She rolled her eyes.
“Are you hungry?”
She paused, shrugged. “Not really.”
Sunny had tossed her “perfect” Farro salad from Gino’s in the trash at her house, confirming she’d been at that flat tire for a good handful of hours before I’d shown up.
I walked over to the cooler and flipped it open.
Hamburger patties, hot dogs, salsa, a bag of chips, carton of eggs, bacon, a half-case of beer, a liter of whiskey—and a box of Twinkies. Anentirebox.
Our options were protein, protein, protein, more protein, and a diabetic coma.
And booze.
Booze for the win.
I bypassed the hard stuff and grabbed a beer. I needed to keep my wits about me—with her this close, the last thing I could afford was clouded judgment.
“Beer?” I asked, voice rougher than I intended.
She turned from the fireplace, now flickering with candlelight. Her hair was twisted into a messy knot on top of her head, a few damp curls slipping loose, framing her face in soft spirals. The glow shimmered across the long line of her neck, catching on a sheen of sweat. My breath hitched.
God, she was beautiful.
No, not just beautiful. Undeniable.
Like this moment—quiet, intimate, impossibly charged—was building to something that neither of us had the strength to stop.
She caught me staring. “What did you say?” Her voice was low, teasing, her head tilted slightly to the side.
I blinked, pulse jumping. “Beer,” I managed. “I asked if you wanted a beer.”
She smiled slowly, something knowing in her eyes. “That actually sounds perfect.”
I cracked one open and handed it to her. Our fingers brushed. Static. Her eyes lingered on mine a beat too long before she took it, raised it to her lips, and tipped it back. A delicate sip. Then she pressed the cool glass bottle against her chest and closed her eyes, exhaling like the weight of the world had been lifted—if only for a second.
My jeans tightened uncomfortably.
She turned away and moved to the window, her silhouette bathed in silver light as she looked out over the water.Silent and still. But the tension between us only grew louder. I watched her, heart pounding, hands tightening around the neck of my beer.
She needed a second to breathe.
I needed a second not to touch her.
“My cabin is just around that bend, you know,” she finally said. “I recognize it.”
I already knew that. I looked at the outline of the mountain in the distance where a few twinkling lights speckled the top, on a clearing above a cliff known as Devil’s Cove, the location for the annual Moon Magic Festival.
“I live less than a half mile from Devil’s Cove. There’s been so much traffic lately. Trucks, trailers, everyone setting up for the festival. The dogs have been so hyped up.”
“It’s supposed to be the biggest one in years.”
“It’s the full moon.”
We both shifted our gaze to the moon.
Yes, something was in the air. We both could feel it.
