Page 260 of Banter & Blushes

Winston grunts—a happy little sound—and wriggles closer to Keigan’s hand, clearly in agreement.

I sigh, crouching down to rub my hand over Winston’s belly, which is already being thoroughly spoiled. “He’s usually such a snob, you know. He doesn’t just take to people like this.”

“Well, I’m honored,” Keigan says, still grinning. “It’s not every day you get a stamp of approval from a pug this distinguished.”

“Distinguished,” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “He once got his head stuck in a can for ten minutes.”

Keigan throws his head back and laughs, the kind of laugh that makes the regulars glance over and smile like they’re in on the joke. Winston, unfazed by the insult to his character, lets out another contented grunt and stays exactly where he is, basking in all the attention.

Clara passes by with a tray of drinks and stops when she sees the scene. “Well, would you look at that,” she says, smirking. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Winston take to anyone that fast. Becky, I think you’ve been replaced.”

Keigan looks up at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sorry, Becky. I think it’s official. Winston’s my dog now.”

I let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching my chest. “Et tu, Winston? Betrayed by my own flesh and blood. Or… fur and blood. Whatever.”

“Sounds like a fair trade,” Keigan says with a wink, and I suddenly feel a little too warm, like the sunlight streaming through the windows has cranked up a notch.

Later, the town has the bonfire which happens on a Friday night, when the sky looks like someone spilled a watercolor palette across it. The flames crackle and pop, sending little sparks into the air, and the smell of salt and smoke fills my nose.

Keigan sits beside me, staring into the fire in a way that makes it seem like he’s waiting for the right moment to speak.

“You know,” he says eventually, his voice low and thoughtful, “fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

I glance at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “How do you mean?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s isolating. You’re surrounded by people all the time, but no one reallyseesyou. Everyone wants something from you—your time, your attention, your image—but no one actually cares about who you are underneath all of that.”

I stare at him, my chest tightening. This isn’t the Keigan who jokes about ginger ale or charms my regulars. This is someone raw and vulnerable, someone who’s been carrying more than he lets on.

“I get it,” I say softly, turning my gaze back to the fire. “It’s hard to let people in. Especially when you’ve been let down before.”

He looks at me, his eyes searching mine. “Have you?”

I hesitate, my fingers digging into the cool sand beneath me. “Yeah,” I admit quietly. “And it makes you cautious, right? Like you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

He nods once, his gaze fixed on the fire. For a few seconds, neither of us speaks. The flames crackle and pop, sending sparks into the night, and the ocean answers with a steady hush, like it’s listening.

Keigan shifts beside me, just enough that I can feel the brush of his shoulder against mine. His voice is low when he finally speaks, almost lost to the wind. “I want to kiss you.”

I blink, my heart stuttering once in my chest.

“But,” he continues, turning his head slightly so I know he means it, “I’m not going to. Not until you ask me to.”

He doesn’t look away. He just lets the words sit there between us, open and unhurried, like he’s not in a rush for the answer.

I breathe in slowly, the salty air cooling my throat. My eyes drift over the firelight dancing in the contours of his face, down to where his fingers are resting quietly in the sand. No tension. No pressure. Just presence.

That kind of patience does something to me. More than any grand gesture or pretty line ever could.

So I do the only thing that feels right.

I reach out and slip my hand into his. Not a bold move. Not a confession. Just a quiet yes.

His thumb brushes the back of my hand, and I don’t pull away. We sit like that for a while, letting the silence stretch and settle. The moon climbs higher, casting a silvery path over the water, and the fire dies down to a warm glow.

Eventually, he leans in just enough that I can feel his breath on my temple.

“I’m still not kissing you,” he murmurs.

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