Holden Prescott’s smolder should come with a warning. His invitation to the event was enough to get my heart racing, but at the thought of the fancy Merry Mynt Ball, I was internally doing a full-on happy dance.
I took the marshmallow from his hands, our fingers brushing. “And if I win?” I asked, trying to keep my face neutral.
“That’s up to you,” he said, his voice deepening. “What do you want?”
That was a loaded question. I wanted a lot of things. And all of them seemed to include him.
“When I win,” I said, trying to match his flirtatious demeanor, “I’ll tell you what I want.”
I wanted to win, but I also kind of wanted to lose because I really wanted to go to the Merry Mynt Ball. I’d figured I wouldn’t be attending anymore, since my ex-boyfriend was the one who had our tickets. I had packed a beautiful dress for the occasion, and going with Holden would be ten times better than going with Alex.
He picked up two roasting sticks, handing me one. “You’re on.” He clinked his stick against mine. “I can’t wait to see what you wear tomorrow night.” He winked at me before turning and walking to a firepit that wasn’t being used.
Andoh, holy night, I had been right. Holden could definitely make a woman swoon with a wink.
I scrambled to grab everything I would need to make my s’more and followed him.
We each sat in an Adirondack chair, placing our items on the small table between us.
Holden adjusted his marshmallow on the stick like he was about to perform surgery. “There’s an art to this,” he said, holding it just above the flames. “Golden-brown perfection. No burns, no char.”
I raised a brow. “You sound very confident.”
He shot me a look. “Confidence is part of the strategy.”
He ever so confidently stuck his marshmallow into the flames—only for it to immediately catch fire.
“Ah!” he yelped, scrambling to blow it out. “That doesn’t count.”
I laughed, thoroughly enjoying seeing confident Holden so adorably ruffled. It was cute. And incredibly endearing.
He carefully removed the charred marshmallow using graham crackers and slipped a new one onto his roasting stick with all the seriousness of a man seeking redemption.
Learning from his mistake, I avoided the biggest flames and held my marshmallow just above a smaller one. When one side started turning golden brown, I turned to him with a cocky smile.
“Um…” He pointed at my marshmallow.
I turned just in time to see it engulfed in flames.
Darn it. I must’ve dipped it too low while I was showing off.
I quickly blew it out, and now we were both laughing.
“We’re not very good at this,” he said, grinning wide. His whole face lit up with it, like he was truly happy.
And the warm, glowing feeling that spread through me, knowing I was the reason for that kind of smile, that kind of laugh, made my heart feel like it could burst.
We eventually got it right on the third try. Both marshmallows were golden, gooey, and worthy of s’more greatness. We assembled our masterpieces and sat back in our chairs, the crackle of the fire filling the quiet between us.
I took a bite and let out a happy sigh. “Okay, this was worth the effort.”
Holden watched me, chewing thoughtfully. “So…who won?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Well, yours did catch fire first.”
“You mocked me while yours lit on fire. Pretty sure that’s grounds for disqualification.”
“Pretty sure the rule wasperfectmarshmallow. And this one was very nearly perfect. Minus the tiny flame incident earlier.”
