Page 224 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“Josie! Watch out for the bucket list!”
The jumbo marshmallow swells with flames as it slides off the metal rod and plops on our bucket list.
“Nooo!” I dash to my sister.
It all happens in an instant. Before I reach her, Josie tilts the book to save it, but the blistering flame slides straight onto her lap.
“It’s on me. It’s on me!”
I catch the book as Josie bolts to her feet, jumping and slapping her thigh where the flames catch fire on the hem of hersweater. She knocks over a cup of liquid that splashes into the fire pit. The flames roar.
Sparks scatter.
Chairs tip.
Drinks slosh.
Josie stumbles backwards, toward the open fire—
“Whoa, whoa—got you.” Bronx catches her waist when she nearly stumbles backward into the fire pit rocks.
“It’s still on me!”
A splash of liquid hits her, and she gasps.
I gasp.
The entire circle gasps.
The beer sizzles and extinguishes the blaze, but not without soaking her.
Bronx tosses the can on the ground at his boots and cracks open another one as he drops back to his seat.
Josie glares at him. “You couldn’t maybe pat it out like a human? You had to drench me?”
He grunts without looking at her. “You’re welcome. Fire’s out, ain’t it?” He takes a long gulp of his drink.
She flicks the liquid from her jeans. “Now I smell like burnt sugar and cheap beer.”
“My beer is not cheap.” His family owns a brewing company outside of town and is known for their craft beer.
“I did not need saving, old man.” Josie smells her sopping hands and makes a face.
“What you need is a hose down, kid.”
I stroll away from the commotion to examine the book. It’s not great.
“How’s the damage?” Hart is behind me.
I tilt the book in his direction, revealing a section of gooey flowers and leather sizzled away.
“Sticky. Burnt. But sweet smelling.” I try to scrape off the marshmallow, but it clings to my fingertips, stretching and snapping.
“Well, looks like our book has a new flavor.” Is he fighting back laughter? “Burnt marshmallow.”
“Perfect combination of my two least favorite things.”
“If I recall, the campfire we wrote in that book involved hot marshmallows”—he pauses, watching me acknowledge his intentional words—“and skin.”
