But he held out a hand and said, "I have somewhere we can watch them. And I made pie."
"You madepie?"
A nod.
"Like, to eat?"
He tilted his head and he looked at her with an amused question.
She laughed at herself and took his hand. "Alright. Show me to this exclusive fireworks spot with pie. That you made."
When his large hand wrapped around hers gently she had to take a steadying breath. Her heart skipped, her chest heated. She felt the memory of his sharp, lethal teeth lightly graze her skin again. A thought stopped her and she paused telling him to wait outside the room as she forgot something in her jeans pocket.
When she was in the bedroom, a quick look thrown over her shoulder ensuring that he was out of sight, she lifted the fluffy duvet on the bed. She hid a smile when she saw dried, muddy sheets still on the bed as she rejoined him in the hallway. But it snuck out again as she thought of him sliding into them later tonight to be tortured by her scent.
She had never been the source of a man's torture. She liked it.
And then he was behind her on a narrow iron spiral staircase with one hand softly guiding her in front of him as his other hand balanced a blueberry pie.
The rooftop was about the size of his kitchen simply outfitted with a bench and a potted apple tree. The wide space sat in a clearing of trees giving them the perfect view of bursting fire in the sky as they sat on the bench and ate straight out of the pie dish.
The blueberries were perfectly ripe, and he had put an almond crumble on top. She felt the best kind of on edge sitting there next to him on his rooftop bench, watching the fireworks. She cautiously looked over at him taking in his strong profile that was tipped up toward the night sky show.
She had two thoughts.
He was beautiful. And she was about to drown in him.
When he turned his head and looked back at her he asked her what she was thinking.
How do you tell someone you feel something you've never felt before, without sounding crazy?
How could she express to him that he might be the most lethal creature she'd ever been around, but she'd never felt safer? Or more alive?
So she simply smiled and shifted an inch closer to him to watch the fireworks dance for the stars. She thought about it before she did it, but then she gingerly laid her cheek on his shoulder. It was the first physical move she made toward him, her first bid for affection.
And she was scared.
But he drew her into him further and kissed the top of her head and she thought that that head kiss was the most intimate kiss she'd had underneath the July sky.
She found herself reluctant to say goodbye as Theo stood three steps below her at The Lost Souls House, his hand wrapped around her small one.
There was a gentleness about this man that caught her breath. She realized she'd known mostly men whose strength was loud. The world often allows us to be quiet, and it takes great strength to listen, either uncomfortable with the silence or needing badly to be heard.
She looked down at this man and recognized a different breed of strength. It answered something inside of her she wasn't sure she could name, but it felt like wandering through a forest without fear and intention.
He kissed her hand and told her to lock the door and as she was closing that door an unseasonable wind caught her cheek in a kiss of warning. The brightness of it shocked her warm skin and beckoned an alertness inside of her that gave her pause.
Their town was about to step up to a line of which no one quite understood but they would start feeling soon. But Salem was no stranger to challenge. The question in the wind tonight was, how would they show up this time?
That evening, a story broke out on every Salem news outlet, every paper, every town blog, and every radio station.
Through various reporters and journalists, words and opinions all of them went something like this:
The peach shortcake at the Fourth of July festival made people act oddly, with reports of too-loud laughter and sparks flying when they touched hands with anyone else who had taken a bite. Was it magic? Their town was under investigation for unnatural occurrences.
Salem was about to find itself on a slippery slope of intolerance.
As all governing bodies know, to point a finger in any direction with the intention of silencing, runs the threat and promise of more fingers and more pointing.
