The rush carried us until the line eased and the lanterns burned brighter than the last strip of sky. I crimped pastry, passed plates, answered questions, and watched people eat food that belonged to both of us. Flint kept the coals steady andthe skewers moving. He shifted one grate before smoke could bother the pickup line and moved a napkin stack behind the wind screen before a gust scattered it. Then he stole a corner of cherry-lime filling from my prep spoon when he thought I wasn’t looking.
I was always looking.
When the order board finally cleared, Joelle took the fork from my hand.
“You get five minutes,” she said. “Flint is waiting by the camper, and you just gave a tray of pastry the look you usually save for men who question dessert.”
“That tray needed leadership, but I respect your timing.”
Flint stood beyond the last lantern, his apron folded over one arm. Firelight brushed the edges of his hair, and the blue dusk behind him made his eyes look softer than they ever had across a competition table. He held out a metal cup.
I wiped sugar from my fingers, crossed the packed dirt, and took it from him.
“Are you hydrating the talent?” I asked.
“The talent argues when she’s thirsty.”
“The talent argues as a lifestyle.”
“Then the talent should drink before she judges pastry again.”
“Your concern is touching and bossy.”
“My concern is practical.”
I drank, and the cold water tasted like relief.
Flint led me around the quiet side of the camper, where the noise softened behind us. Crickets sang in the grass. The pines held the last warmth from the day, and the air carried woodsmoke, cherries, charred peppers, and summer grass.
He reached into his pocket. “I have something for you.”
“If it’s a lecture about pastry placement near flame, I’m returning to my public.”
“It isn’t a lecture.”
“Your face says practical romance.”
He brushed his thumb over my palm once. Then he opened his hand.
A brass key lay there on a leather cord, simple and warm from his skin.
“There’s a red hook by the cabin door,” Flint said. “I put it up for your apron, but I’m hoping you’ll use it for more than work nights.”
I closed my fingers around the cord. “That sounds like a serious commitment to laundry access.”
“I cleared half the closet.”
“You’ve seen my wardrobe.”
“I fought wildfires. I can handle your packing system.”
“Bold words from a man who owns three colors and calls one of them dress dark.”
He settled his hand at my waist. “I also cleared a pantry shelf.”
“Can I use that shelf for my spices?”
“For the spices you pretend are emotionally organized.”
