I step closer. “You’re very obsessed with fires.”
He steps closer too. “And you’re very obsessed with pretending nothing ever goes wrong.”
My breath quickens. “Maybe I like believing the world can be good.”
“Maybe I like preparing for when it’s not.”
We’re inches apart now.
Too close.Waytoo close.
Holly’s voice breaks the tension as she runs up from nowhere, a blur of purple boots.
“Uncle Ash! You forgot my mittens!”
Ash curses under his breath and steps back. I feel his warmth disappear like someone ripped away a blanket. He grabs the mittens from her and mumbles, “Thanks, kid.”
Holly looks up at me. “Are you coming to the parade? They have candy canes.”
“I’ll be there,” I say.
She beams and runs back toward their cabin.
Ash lingers.
“Don’t overload the outlets,” he says.
“I’m not an idiot.”
He gives me a slow once-over. “I’ll let you know when my opinion changes.”
My jaw drops. “You?—”
He walks away before I can finish, boots crunching, shoulders broad and unbothered.
I shout after him: “For the record, I’m perfectly capable of handling a few string lights!”
His voice carries back through the trees:
“Sure you are, Sparky. Sure you are.”
By nightfall, I’ve hung exactly three strands of lights and burned hot chocolate to the bottom of a pot. I step onto the porch to cool off—and nearly jump when I see Ash standing in his own yard, staring at my lights like they’ve personally offended him.
He crosses his arms, lifting one brow. “They’re crooked.”
“They’re festive.”
“They’re a fire risk.”
“They’re LED!”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I point a finger at him. “You are impossible.”
He smirks—actually smirks—like he’s been waiting for that.
“And you,” he says, voice low, “are my sparkly pain in the ass.”
