Page 7 of Mountain Man's Bonfire Beauty
I looked over at her, considering how much to reveal. “Because you’re good at reading people. You have to be, working with kids all day, managing crowds at your booth. If you think I’m doing something right, I probably am.”
She smiled, and even in the dim light, I could see the pleasure in her expression. “You know, when you’re not lecturing me about fire safety, you’re actually pretty sweet.”
“I wasn’t lecturing—” I started, then caught myself. “Okay, I was totally lecturing. Sorry again.”
“Apology accepted.” She pulled her legs up onto the log, wrapping her arms around her knees. “For what it’s worth, I understand why you did it. After what you told me this afternoon about your friends…”
“Still doesn’t excuse me being an ass.”
“No,” she said with a small smile, “but it explains it. And explanation goes a long way with me.”
We fell back into comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft crackling of cooling embers and the distant sound of car engines as the last stragglers headed home. The temperature had dropped significantly since the sun went down, and I noticed Parker shivering despite her jacket.
“Cold?” I asked.
“A little. But it’s peaceful out here. I’m not in any hurry to leave.”
Neither was I. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I was exactly where I wanted to be, with exactly the person I wanted to be with.
The realization should have scared me—usually did, when I let myself get too comfortable with someone. But sitting here with Parker, watching the last of the fire die down under a sky full of stars, fear was the last thing on my mind.
“Ayden?” Her voice was soft, tentative.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For today, for this afternoon, for…all of it. I know I gave you a hard time, but having you around made everything better.”
I looked over at her, struck by the sincerity in her voice. In the dying firelight, she looked almost ethereal, her copper hair glowing like she was lit from within. Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover it.
“Parker,” I said quietly, my voice rougher than I intended.
She turned to face me fully, and something in the air between us shifted. The easy friendship of the afternoon was still there, but underneath it was something deeper, more intense. Something that made my heart race.
“Yeah?” she whispered.
But before I could figure out what I wanted to say, how to put into words what I was feeling, a gust of wind scattered the embers, sending up a shower of sparks that got our attention.
The moment broke, but the feeling lingered. As I stood and resumed tending the fire, I could feel her watching me, and I knew that whatever this was between us, it was far from over.
We still had at least another hour before the fire would be safe to leave. An hour alone, under the stars, with the most fascinating woman I’d ever met.
Normally, I’d be counting the seconds until I could be snug in my own bed, fan blowing on me, room-darkening shades in place. But not tonight. Tonight, I wanted to sit here, to stretch things out, to stay until the sun rose—and then I’d curse the sun for rising.
Nearly a half hour later, the smoke finally died down enough that we had no excuse to stick around anymore. We started walking—her wearing my jacket and me fighting a smile at the sight of her in it.
“I can give you a ride to your car,” I said, gesturing toward my truck as we walked toward it.
The tailgate was down, the bed empty. I’d parked it there so some of the teenagers could hang out in the back and enjoy the fire from a safe distance. But now it looked odd—the only vehicle left—just a big, cream-colored truck in the middle of a field.
“You know, I don’t have to be home anytime soon,” she said. “I have a feeling I’m not going to be able to sleep anyway.”
“Why is that?”
“Too worked up. Overstimulated.”
“Talking to me does that?” I chuckled. “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me I overstimulated them before.”
“Not talking,” she said softly. “Just being close to you. It does things to me.”
