“Jesus,” I murmured, glancing back at them. “Are they going to fight or fuck?”
Maddox watched the two of them sparring. “This has been going on for months. Maybe it’s just the way they are.”
“Okay, take two,” I announced to the camera, grabbing another marshmallow. “This time with adult supervision.”
Maddox stepped behind me, his arms coming around to guide my hands on the skewer. The position was intimate enough that several people around the fire exchanged knowing looks, but I found I didn’t care.
Maddox didn’t seem to care either. His chest was solid against my back, his hands warm over mine as he helped me position the marshmallow at the optimal distance from the flames.
“Patience,” he murmured near my ear. “Let it toast slowly. The goal is golden brown, not nuclear meltdown.”
“I don’t do patience well,” I admitted, very aware of how perfectly I fit against him.
“I’ve noticed.” His voice was dry, but his hands stayed steady over mine. “Just focus on the marshmallow. Stop thinking about the camera. Just be here.”
I tried to follow his advice, watching the white surface graduallyturn golden under the gentle heat. There was something meditative about it, the simple focus required to rotate the skewer slowly and evenly. For once, I wasn’t thinking about angles or lighting or how many likes this would get.
“There,” Maddox said quietly, his breath warm against my temple. “Perfect.”
I turned in his arms to show him the perfectly toasted marshmallow, suddenly aware of how close we were. His eyes had gone dark in the firelight, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me right there in front of half of Legacy’s population.
Instead, someone nearby called out, “Hey, lovebirds, you heating up marshmallows or each other?”
We stepped apart quickly, both of us flushing.
I cleared my throat and held up my golden marshmallow triumphantly. “Can’t we do both?”
The group around the fire erupted in laughter and good-natured whistles. Maddox rolled his eyes but was fighting a smile as he helped me assemble my s’more with graham crackers and chocolate.
We found a quieter spot on a bench slightly removed from the main crowd, close enough to feel the fire’s warmth but far enough away for something resembling privacy. I put my phone away and just enjoyed the moment—the taste of perfectly melted chocolate and marshmallow, the sound of laughter and conversation around us, the solid presence of Maddox beside me.
“These things can be kind of a lot,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet. “Everyone watching everyone else’s business. But with you here, it’s… not bad.”
I looked at him in surprise. This was the first time he’d admitted to enjoying my company without immediately following it up with reasons why it was a terrible idea.
“Careful, Sullivan,” I said, keeping my tone light even assomething warm bloomed in my chest. “You’re starting to sound like someone who likes me.”
“Maybe I do.” He met my eyes, and I saw something vulnerable there, something real. “Maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, shoulders touching, watching the fire pop and crackle. I wanted to say something meaningful, something that would capture how good this felt—this easy intimacy, this sense of belonging somewhere, with someone. But the words felt too big, too dangerous.
Instead, I bumped his shoulder gently with mine. “Thanks for helping me not burn down Legacy on my first fire safety assignment.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied, gesturing toward where Chief Kincaid was approaching with what looked like official paperwork. “Pretty sure you’re about to get a lecture on proper marshmallow technique.”
But Chief Kincaid just wanted to make sure I had everything I needed for my content, to thank me for promoting fire safety to my followers, and to apologize for snapping at me earlier. He was professional and friendly, but I found myself comparing his straightforward charm to Maddox’s more complex appeal. The chief was undeniably attractive, but he didn’t make my pulse race or my stomach flip the way Maddox did with just a glance.
The three of us moved back to the fire, slipping into professional mode long enough to film a few more clips with the chief about bonfire and backyard fire pit safety, indoor fireplace safety, and proper fire-extinguishing techniques.
After Kincaid thanked me and moved on to check on other guests, I noticed Maddox helping a little girl who’d panicked and dropped her skewer in the dirt when the logs on the fire popped and crackled.
He crouched down to her level, handed her a fresh marshmallow to try again, and stood beside her with his hand on the stick covering hers.
Without really thinking about it, I turned my camera back on.
“I know it looks scary,” Maddox said, patiently soothing the girl’s fears in a gentle voice that made something squeeze tight in my chest. “But we’ve got this. See? As long as we hold on tight and don’t let go.”
“The best lesson from tonight’s adventure,” I whispered softly, watching Maddox laugh at something the little girl said, his whole face transforming with genuine warmth. “Even when you’re scared, hold tight and don’t let go.”
