Clara stilled but she lightly teased, "Probably a hazard for someone like you."
He forced a chuckle. "Something like that."
To her credit, Clara didn't push him for clarification or make him defend himself. She just accepted it — accepted him — and turned back to the fire. Which should've felt like relief.
Instead it sat in his gut like a question he didn't know how to answer.
The festival wound down gradually. Families with small children left first, kids drowsy on shoulders. Then the older crowd, citing early mornings and creaky joints. The bonfire burned lower, embers glowing red in the darkness.
Clara didn't move. Neither didJack.
They'd been sitting close all night—shoulders touching, hands occasionally brushing, existing in that charged space between friends and something more. But now, with most of the crowd gone and the fire dying to coals, the air between them felt different. Heavy with possibility. Electric with want.
"We should probably head back," Clara said, making no move to stand.
"Probably."
"It's late."
"It is."
Neither of them moved.
Jack was acutely aware of every point where their bodies touched. Her shoulder against his arm. Her thigh pressed against his leg. The way she'd tucked her hand into his somewhere around hour two and hadn't let go since.
He was aware of the way she smelled—salt and smoke and something sweet that might have been her shampoo. The way firelight caught the red in her hair, turning it copper and gold. The way she'd laughed tonight, open and genuine, like she'd forgotten to be guarded.
His pulse was doing something it shouldn't. His hand had tightened around hers without him deciding to.His whole body had turned toward her like a compass needle finding north, and the conscious part of his brain was only just now catching up to what the rest of him already knew.
"Jack?" Clara's voice was quiet, nearly lost under the sound of waves.
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to kiss me?"
His heart kicked against his ribs. He licked his lips. "If I say something like, 'As desperately as my lungs need oxygen' I'll sound like an idiot so I'll just say, 'You have no fucking idea…' and hope that conveys the same answer."
She grinned up at him. "Then, do it, you big idiot."
The light couldn't get any greener but suddenly, Jack felt all the nervousness of a teen boy with his first crush. What if their head tilts don't line up and he accidentally kisses her upper lip? What if their noses bang into each other in some cruel misalignment and they give each other the immediate 'ick'?
Ahhh, fuck it, just go for it and let the chips fall where they may.
Jack turned to face her fully, bringing his free hand up to cup her jaw. Her skin was warm from the fire, soft under hispalm.
The kiss was gentle at first. Tentative. Her lips soft against his, questioning, like she was testing whether this was real or just another thing that would disappear when she opened her eyes.
Jack answered by pulling her closer, his hand sliding from her jaw to tangle in her hair. She tasted like illegal cider and smoke and something indefinably Clara—salt and sweetness and the kind of brave that came from choosing to try even when you were terrified.
Clara made a small sound in the back of her throat and pressed closer, her free hand coming up to grip his shirt. The kiss deepened, turned hungry, like they were both trying to communicate everything they'd been holding back for two weeks through touch alone.
Jack's other hand found her waist, fingers spreading across her ribs, feeling her heartbeat racing under his palm. She was warm and real and kissing him like he was oxygen and she'd been drowning.
He knew the feeling.
They broke apart when breathing became necessary, foreheads pressed together, both of them gasping slightly. Clara's hand was still fisted in his shirt. Jack's fingers were still tangled in her hair.
"Wow," Clarabreathed.
