“The trick to the perfect s’more is to make the marshmallow completely gooey inside while only barely toasting the outside. It gives you the best of both worlds. A warm center with a crisp,mild crunch.” Tripp turned his head then. She half-expected him to toss it in the fire when she reached for it. He wouldn’t do that, though. Would he? They were in front of everyone. He’d make himself out to be the bad guy.
Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the treat. Her fingers grazed his but he didn’t react, unlike the swirling sensations inside her own body. Wendy’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t… like… spit in this, did you?”
His eyes widened and a flicker of irritation shifted behind his eyes. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “Who hurt you?” he mumbled.
No one. Not really.
However, his question made her stomach do all kinds of acrobatic flips. She bit down on her lower lip as she stared at the mouthwatering treat. It did look pretty good. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had one.
Whatever. If she got sick, she knew who she could blame.
Wendy brought the s’more to her mouth and took a bite. A string of marshmallow was dragged from the confines of the crackers and when it snapped, some was left behind on her chin. She ducked her head with a half-laugh, half-moan. Something this simple shouldn’t taste this good.
Tripp grinned beside her as her eyes widened. “This is amazing.”
He leaned in close and whispered, “I like to add a little cinnamon between the chocolate and the marshmallow. Don’t tell anyone.” His eyes dipped to her chin and he lifted his thumb to wipe away the marshmallow she hadn’t managed to lick clean yet.
Tripp’s eyes locked with hers for one breath-stealing moment, his touch lingering. The pad of his thumb was warm and calloused but most surprising of all was how gentle he was. He brought his thumb to his own mouth and sucked the sugar clean.
Wendy’s lashes fluttered and in this quiet moment with the crackling of the fire as a backdrop, she almost wanted to pretend she was someone else, and so was he.
“Yo, Tripp, your marshmallow’s on fire.”
Tripp startled and his head spun toward the marshmallow set ablaze.
Wendy giggled despite herself, and he shot her a look that was less irritated and more amused than anything else. A curse slipped from his lips as he got to his feet and blew out the flames. Then he carefully pried the marshmallow from the skewer and tossed it into the fire.
“Pass me the marshmallows, Noah. Stop hogging them all.”
Wendy glanced over toward Jane’s husband. There had to be at least two marshmallows in the guy’s mouth and when he grinned, he showed just how much he enjoyed eating them all on their own. She bit back another laugh, and Noah tossed the bag toward Tripp.
He caught it with one hand, grabbed two marshmallows this time, then tossed it back.
Jane groaned. “Don’t give it back. He’s had enough.”
Noah popped another pillowy piece into his mouth before leaning down and crashing his lips to his wife. She squealed and more laughter ensued.
Tripp sat beside her again, the tension between them now gone. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t speak to her as he continued cooking. Every so often he’d say something to one of his cousins, but for the most part, he just kept her quiet company. After he put together two more s’mores, he offered her another.
This time, she didn’t hesitate to take it. He grinned at her and she just knew he was gloating.
“What are you playing at?” she asked.
“I have no idea what you mean.” Tripp murmured, licking his fingers after finishing his last bite.
“Oh hogwash. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re playing games. It’s only a matter of time before you make your move. But guess what? I’m an excellent chess player. This only ends one way.”
His eyes landed on her, full of intrigue. “Oh, I’m well aware of how this will end,” he said huskily, leaning in closer to her. “You might think we’re playing chess, but we’re not.”
“No?” she asked.
“No,” he whispered. “We’re playing Risk.”
She frowned at him, then her eyes narrowed. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t voice a comeback. He’d stumped her.
He winked, seemingly realizing that he’d bested her. “What fun is a game without a little chaos? Chess is great an all, but we know all the players, all the rules. But Risk? Sometimes one roll of the dice is all it takes for someone to be brought to their knees.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
