Page 22 of Campfires & Canines
Instead of the sky, she’s staring at me with a dopey grin. My chest constricts. We’re frozen for a few seconds until she snaps out of it.
Hazel runs her tongue over her bottom lip and moves her attention upwards.
“Let’s see.” She releases her hold on my arm, swaying slightly as she turns in place. My hand automatically goes to the small of her back to steady her.
“There.” She points. “That’s Sirius, the brightest star.”
She cocks her head, squinting. “Which means, that’s Canis Major. Sirius is the chest, and there’s the head, body, legs, tail.” She gestures at the stars. I can’t see it, but I’m not exactly trying. How can I when moonlight washes over her, making her look like a goddess?
“What else? Of course, there’s the big dipper, Orion’s belt,” she continues, “oh, and there’s Cygnus the swan.”
“That’s impressive,” I say.
She circles towards me, my hand sliding from her back to her hip. “Thanks.” She dips in a wobbly curtsey, making me laugh.
“It’s getting late,” I say, hating myself for ending this moment.
“Okay.” She hooks her hand over my arm again. As we return to the darkness of the trees, she squeezes closer to me. Instinctively, I want to wrap my arms around her, maybe pick her up and carry her. I do neither.
Far too soon, we reach her cabin. She stops on the bottom step and turns to me. I should walk away. This is too intimate, taking her right to her door. Lingering.
"You keep walking me home."
Shy, she looks up at me and then back down; her breathing speeds up. If this was a date, I would kiss her right now. I’d pin her up against a tree and taste her until she whimpered. I've completely lost my mind.
"Gotta watch out for our guest," I say lamely.
"I appreciate it." Her throaty whisper has me entranced.
But she’s been drinking and it makes her uninhibited. That might be the only thing that stops me because Heath’s mandates are steadily losing their power over me as I stare into the depths of her eyes. She unravels me.
Lips curving, she leans forward. Her fingers lightly touch my arm and skim up my tattoos. I inhale sharply as she reaches the edge of my sleeve and slips under the edge for a second before trailing lower.
She tilts her jaw towards me, silently asking a question I shouldn’t answer. Every muscle in my body goes taut. She would taste like cider and marshmallows, which are suddenly the most erotic flavors I can imagine.
Using every ounce of willpower I possess, I take a step away. Hurt flashes across her face.
My heart drops. The last thing I want to do is hurt her. I reach for anything to lift her spirits. “Do you want to come over after lunch with Marigold, and we can see about that tattoo?"
She looks abashed but nods anyway. "I'd love that."
"Cool." I nod. Cool?
"Goodnight, Slate." My name out of her mouth incapacitates me. I can hardly make my lungs work.
"Night, Hazel,” I choke out.
She slips inside and then meets my gaze while she slowly swings the door closed. Even after it’s latched, I stand there dumbfounded.
Finally, the sound of crickets pulls me out of my stupor. It’s a good thing my feet can wander home without any conscious thought because she’s completely shorted out my brain.
I stay up for hours sketching. Moons in arcs, moons with stars in a long narrow piece, moons surrounded by wildflowers. I'm always a night owl, but tonight my blood is electrified and I can't seem to settle. Can’t see anything except her eyes. Her lips. Her skin.
Finally, I toss my sketchbook aside and pull off my shirt. To burn off this energy, I need a run under the stars.
I savor the crisp night air and the noisy silence of the forest with all of its creaks and rustling. As my muscles burn, my whirling thoughts fade away.
5. Ink & Intimacy
