She carried a tray to the coffee table: graham crackers, chocolate bars, marshmallows, and a small container of fresh raspberries.
“S’mores?” I raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t we a little old for that?”
“You’re never too old for s’mores,” she said firmly, dropping onto the floor in front of the fireplace. “Especially with my secret ingredient.”
She patted the spot beside her, and I joined her on the floor, our backs against the couch. The fire crackled, casting a warm glow across her features.
“I’m guessing the raspberries are the secret ingredient?” I asked as she handed me a marshmallow skewered on a long fork.
“Yup.” She grinned, placing her own marshmallow dangerously close to the flames. “The trick is to get it golden brown, not charred.”
“Says the woman currently setting her marshmallow on fire.”
“It’s a controlled burn,” she protested, pulling back the now-flaming confection and blowing it out. “Perfect.”
“Correction. That is charcoal.”
“Then you try to do better.”
“There is no try.” I rotated my marshmallow, achieving an even golden brown.
“Show-off,” she muttered, but she grinned as she rolled her eyes.
Once our marshmallows were toasted to our respective preferences, Mari demonstrated her technique: graham cracker, chocolate, hot marshmallow, three raspberries, then the top graham cracker.
“The heat from the marshmallow melts the chocolate and warms the berries,” she explained. “The combination is life-changing.”
Skeptical but willing to try, I assembled mine the same way. Shit. She was right. The tart freshness of the raspberries cut through the sweetness of the chocolate and marshmallow, creating a perfect balance.
“Okay, I admit it,” I said after swallowing. “That’s exceptional.”
“Told you.” She looked ridiculously pleased with herself. “I’m full of good ideas.”
Yeah. Like the ones I’d stolen. The words hit too close to home. I pushed the thought away, not wanting to ruin the moment.
We made another round of s’mores, Mari insisting on toasting my marshmallow this time (“You need to live a little, Gable. Controlled chaos is the way”). As she handed me the completed s’more, a drip of chocolate caught on her lower lip.
“You’ve got...” I gestured to my lip.
“Hmm?” She tried to see, crossing her eyes.
Without thinking, I reached out, my thumb gently brushing the corner of her mouth to remove the chocolate. Her lips parted in surprise.
“Got it,” I said in a quieter voice.
Her gaze locked with mine. For a heartbeat that seemed to stretch into eternity, neither of us moved. The warmth of her skin radiated beneath my fingertips, still lingering near her face. Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes.
All I had to do was lean forward. Just a few inches, and I could taste the chocolate and raspberries on her lips.
Fuck, I wanted to kiss her.
Screw professionalism.
CHAPTER 9
Mari To The Rescue
MARI
