Page 88 of Tinder Embrace
All too soon, we set down. Jo met us on the ground to deflate and help set up the target. That was the only downside to being the Hare, it made for a short flight. A few minutes later, the first competitor flew near, throwing their bean bag toward the large tarp we'd set up with a bullseye in tape.
Jo and I cheered along with the pilot and his passengers when it landed a respectable eight feet from the center.
We measured and logged distances as a handful of other balloons passed over us. A few caught winds that blew them further east or west, but Ruth Willis in Sew Happy managed a drop only a foot off center.
Tom radioed that all pilots had lifted off, and we waited for the last of the balloons to pass before packing up and returning to the launch field. Gwen joined us at our rig, Eve and Izzy in tow, and my gaze skipped across their faces, reassured by their calm expressions.
"Nothing unexpected happened during launch?" I murmured to Gwen.
"Nope."
I sighed, rotating my shoulders, letting the last of the tension leak out of me. I hadn't wanted to admit it to Gwen, but I'd been more than a bit worried that our not-so-friendly neighborhood saboteur would strike during launch. Propane, flying, and shenanigans really didn't mix, andI was grateful for the small mercy. But it was too soon to let down our guard.
I grabbed my cooler from Bee-gonia's trailer, and Jo helped me set out my picnic blanket and our brunch supplies. I'd packed an array of cut fruit, cheese, and mini muffins with champagne and sparkling cider to go along with the ground ceremony.
"Trina, Ned, please take a seat," I invited, gesturing toward the blanket.
Jo helped me pass around small glasses of champagne, and I grabbed a cider.
"Trina, Ned, we celebrate our safe return to Earth with every flight. During the first human-piloted hot air balloon flight, the French pilots brought a bottle of champagne with them. Originally intended to toast a successful flight, it ended up serving the important purpose of convincing the farmer whose field they landed in that they were not, in fact, dragons. Thus, a tradition was born. Cheers to a safe flight."
Everyone raised their glass and sipped.
"The second part of that tradition is the balloonist's prayer, which I’ll recite for you now.The winds have welcomed you with softness. The sun has blessed you with his warm hands. You have flown so well and so high, that God has joined you in your laughter and set you gently back again into the loving arms of Mother Earth. Congratulations and thank you for sponsoring our flight today.”
Davis linked his fingers with mine as I waved goodbye to Ned and Trina after we’d finished breakfast, glad most of my official duties for the day were done. Eve and Gwen had excused themselves earlier to return to the festival booth.
We packed up and walked to Progress Park, where we'd set up our headquarters for the rest of the event. Gwen and Eve sat under a tent, welcoming vendors as they arrived to set up for the craft fair.
"All quiet here?" I asked Gwen and Eve.
Gwen had barely finished her nod when the sound of an explosion rocked the air. My body seized, the breath freezing in my lungs as a plume of smoke rose in the distance.
Davis pulled me beneath him, sheltering me under him. His rough breath comingled with mine, and I stared up at him, shock making me incapable of doing more than lying there. Davis rolled to the side when we realized the single blast wasn’t likely to be followed by additional detonations.
Gwen and Eve had sheltered under their table. Zander stood a few feet away, distress in every line of his face, breathing hard. He looked like he’d sprinted from wherever he’d been.
Slowly, I pushed up on my elbows.
Sirens wailed in the distance, our small but mighty volunteer fire department heading toward the source of the explosion.
Gwen and I exchanged grim glances, and my stomach bottomed out, dread gripping me. Davis helped me up, tugging me into a quick hug before following our friends toward the field.
I could only hope that no one had been injured. Pilots had to regularly remind the crowds not to light up near their tanks.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted Darrell standing safely by his propane truck and kept scanning for the source of the blast.
A lone propane tank smoked ten feet from Darrell’s truck.
While refueling, it was common for pilots to line their rigs up, taking turns refilling before driving back to their crews for ground ceremonies. Some pilots preferred to do their ground ceremonies at their landing site, but those who’d flown longer often booked it back to the field instead to avoid missing a convenient refill. Darrell had a healthy line of trucks waiting, but the smoking propane tank sat all alone. It seemed unlikely that a pilot had dropped their tank off and left.
The firefighters swiftly extinguished the last of the flames, and a sheriff’s deputy arrived to push the crowd of onlookers back and take statements.
“Darrell, you good?” I asked, concerned for the older man. The way he rubbed at his chest made me consider calling his wife. “I thought for sure you were a goner when that tank went up.”
“It was the damnedest thing, Sophie,” Darrell said, shaking his head. “I swear I didn’t even fill that tank yet. No idea why it’d go up like that.”
“I have an idea,” Gwen grumbled, frowning as she judged the distance between the flaming mess that used to be a propane tank and the rest of Darrell’s fill line.
