“I like her,” Colt says. “You bringing her to poker night?”
Mason grunts. “She’d rob you all blind.”
“Iwould,” I say sweetly, sipping from the cider he just bought me. It’s warm and spiced and just slightly too hot, and I make an appreciative noise that has Mason looking like he wants to cause a scene.
There’s butter tarts, too. Flaky and sticky and criminally good. Mason swipes another one off a passing tray and hands it to me without asking. I think he just wants to hear me moan again.
“No cider for you?” I ask between bites.
He shakes his head. “Volunteering. We’re not on call, but we’re still visible.”
“So no New Year’s kiss for me at midnight?”
He leans in close. “Nothere.”
Around 11:30, the crowd starts drifting toward the bonfires lining the edge of the lake, everyone trying to snag the best view before midnight.
Kids are bundled into chairs, older folks cozy up under plaid blankets, and phones start glowing as people prep for the countdown.
Mason doesn’t move.
“Shouldn’t we—?”
“Nope,” he says, mouth brushing my ear. “I’ve got a better idea.”
“Which is…?”
He nods toward the back of the lot. “Firetruck’s over there. It’s warm. Quiet. Better view of the sky. Thought we could watch the countdown from the cab.”
“Mm. Romantic.”
“Better than freezing your ass off surrounded by drunk teenagers.”
I grin and let him tug me through the crowd, around the tents and past the makeshift sound booth where someone’s blasting old school rock hits.
A few people wave as we go, but Mason just tips his chin and keeps moving.
The firetruck’s is huge, and he helps me up the side step, then climbs in behind me and pulls the door shut. The cab is warm, clean, and surprisingly private.
We settle on the bench seat, pressed shoulder to thigh, a whole sky stretched above the windshield.
“You okay?” I ask softly, watching his profile.
His thumb rubs absent circles against my thigh. “Just thinkin’.”
“About what?”
He exhales through his nose. “New Year’s. It’s always been kinda… shit. I haven’t really done the whole resolution thing since everything happened. Just figured there wasn’t much point in planning anything.”
My heart aches for him, and I thread my fingers through his.
“Well,” I say gently, “maybe there doesn't need to be plans. Maybe it’s just about remembering you’re not alone anymore.”
Stormy gray eyes lock on mine. “You makin’ a resolution, baby?”
“Yeah, I think I am.”
“What is it?”
