Page 10 of Bolt To Me
“That’s my girl,” he said with such casual certainty that it lodged in her chest.
They began to walk, weaving slowly between rows of vendor booths. His shoulder brushed hers now and then, and she wasn’t entirely sure if it was on purpose, but every time it happened, it was like striking a match. He stayed close without crowding her, his hand occasionally ghosting the small of her back when the throng pressed too tightly around them. It was subtle, almost gentlemanly, except for the fact that her body reacted to it in ways that had nothing to do with manners.
The stares were impossible to miss. Mrs. Campbell all but froze mid-sentence behind her pie stand, eyes widening like she’d just heard the preacher swear. Teenagers leaned in, whispering behind cupped hands. Old Man Deacon squinted across the lawn, then grinned so broadly his cheeks nearly swallowed his eyes and gave Cory a slow, deliberate thumbs-up.
Carli groaned under her breath. “Oh my God, he just congratulated you with his face.”
Cory chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Can’t help it if I’ve got good taste.”
They spent the better part of an hour meandering through the festival, sampling bites of honey from a vendor in a straw hat, tossing beanbags at a cornhole board while Cory pretended not to take it seriously until he nailed three perfectshots in a row. They wandered past rows of wind chimes that sang softly in the breeze, lingered over jars of jam and pickles, and let themselves be drawn by the irresistible smell of sizzling brisket. The longer they walked, the easier it felt, the more natural the rhythm between them became.
And then they reached the hayride. The wagon sat near the far edge of the square, its flatbed lined with bales of straw, strings of little white lights wrapped along its railings. Families and couples were already climbing aboard, laughter and chatter rising over the creak of the boards.
Carli hesitated. “You want to sit on a bale of itchy straw with me for thirty minutes while kids scream and couples make out in the shadows?”
“Absolutely,” he said, already lacing his fingers around her wrist and tugging her toward it.
They found a spot in the very back, the boards cool under their legs, the straw scratching faintly against the backs of their calves. The ride jolted forward, the slow rumble of the tractor blending with the soft rasp of straw shifting under them. Soon, the noise of the festival began to fade, replaced by the chirp of crickets and the faint flicker of fireflies in the darkening field beyond.
“It’s quiet,” Carli murmured.
“Too quiet?” His eyes caught the glow from the lights, deep and steady.
She shook her head. “No. Just… different.”
“I like different,” he said, and something in the way he said it made her pulse skip.
The air between them shifted. It was softer here; the world narrowed down to the sway of the wagon, the scent of straw, and his cologne, warm and faintly woody, threaded with something darker that she couldn’t name but wanted to breathein forever. She tried to focus on the line of trees sliding past in the distance, but her gaze kept drifting back to him.
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” she admitted quietly. “For you to pull back. Or for me to push you away.”
He studied her face in the dim light, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his voice was low and serious. “What if neither of us does?”
The question lingered like a dare, daring her to close the space between them, daring her to believe that maybe not everything had to end in disaster. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away either.
Cory reached out, his hand brushing lightly against her temple as he tucked a loose curl behind her ear. His fingers lingered for just a fraction too long along her cheek. “I want to kiss you again,” he said, his tone stripped of playfulness now. “Not to prove anything. Just because I need to.”
Her chest felt too tight to hold her breath, but somehow she managed. “Then do it.”
He leaned in, slow enough to give her every chance to stop him, close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath ghost over her lips before they touched. The kiss started soft, so soft it made the world slow around them, his mouth brushing hers with the barest pressure, like he was trying to learn the exact shape of her. She responded before she could think, tilting toward him, her fingers finding the firm line of his chest and curling in the fabric of his shirt.
The kiss deepened, not hurried but sure, his hand sliding to the curve of her waist, drawing her closer until the only thing she could feel was him. The wagon rocked gently under them, the night air cool against her flushed skin, the straw pressing faintly against her back. It wasn’t the wild, impulsive porch kiss they’d shared before. This one was deliberate, purposeful, like hewas pouring every unspoken thing he’d never dared say straight into her.
She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, the rest of the world gone except for the faint creak of the wagon and the rush of her pulse in her ears. When he finally drew back, his forehead lingered against hers for a moment, their breaths mingling.
The wagon had stopped. The driver was still facing forward, the picture of polite disinterest, though she had the sneaking suspicion he’d noticed far more than he let on.
Carli blinked, the ground feeling a little less steady beneath her boots than it had when she’d first climbed aboard. “Wow,” she said, the word slipping out before she could think better of it.
Cory’s mouth curved into a slow smile. “You sure you’re not ready for something real?”
She swallowed, still tasting him on her lips. “I’m sure I’m not ready to stop that.”
His laugh was low and warm, the kind of sound that could settle under your skin and stay there. He brushed his thumb lightly over her hand before standing, offering it to her. She took it without hesitation, and they stepped down together into the night.
Somewhere beyond the quiet field, the music from the festival floated toward them again, faint but insistent. And under the stars, with his hand still in hers, Carli knew something had shifted. Something was beginning, wild, unexpected, and impossible to stop.
The Festival Night
