My breath catches at the way he says it—like it matters.
Before I can respond, the band shifts songs again, the tempo picking up slightly, and the crowd begins to move toward the arena for the fireworks finale. People drift off the dance floor in a tide of bodies.
Jack doesn’t let go of my hand.
Not once.
He guides me through the crowd like it’s nothing, his body angling between me and everyone else. Protective without being showy. Possessive without even trying.
We end up near the fence line, with a clear view of the sky.
“Here,” Jack murmurs, positioning me where the lights from the arena fall across us. “Stay by me.”
“As opposed to—where?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light even as my heart pounds.
“As opposed to wandering off to save a toddler or wrestle a goat,” he says.
I gasp in mock offense. “I did not wrestle a goat.”
“You did,” he replies.
“I rescued a sticker.”
Jack’s gaze flicks to mine. “And you almost got crushed by hay.”
My humor falters.
Jack’s hand slides to my lower back, warm and firm. “I’m not letting you out of my reach, Stella.”
My throat tightens. “Okay.” The word comes out softer than I mean, too much like surrender.
The first fireworks explode overhead—white and gold, crackling like a storm made of light. The crowd cheers.
I look up.
Jack’s gaze stays on me.
I feel it like a touch—his attention like heat on my skin.
“What?” I whisper, still staring at the sky because if I look at him too long, I might combust.
“You’re smiling,” he says.
“I like fireworks,” I say.
“I know,” he murmurs. “You like everything.”
I laugh softly. “Not everything.”
“What don’t you like?”
I glance at him then, and my breath catches.
His face is lit by the fireworks—sharp jaw, tired eyes, a scar along his cheek that makes him look even more dangerous. He looks like a man carved out of midnight and promises.
“I don’t like feeling… watched,” I say honestly.
His expression tightens. “Youarebeing watched.”
