“You look like you just got back from Antarctica.”
“It’s twenty-three degrees, Jonah,” I shoot back. “Not exactlybathing suitweather.”
I shoot a glare his way, but he’s already smiling at me because Iamthe only person with gloves and Iamfrom the South.
However, tonight feels like the town was put into the freezer, and I’m supposed to be supporting its annual Snowball Festival without the snow and without real snowballs.
Really, it’s iced sno-cones with your choice of flavors.
And games.
And rides that only these psycho children are enjoying while mydatecontinues to tease me about how bundled up I am.
“You knock downonecan,” Jonah proposes. “And we’ll skip the rest of the games, I’ll win you that bear you’ve been staring at all night, and we’ll grab some cocoa.”
“Is it Lucy Valor’s stand?”
He smirks. “She’s the only one whom the town will allow to serve such a beverage. Especially since she makes such a big deal about the quality of the marshmallows and the temperature the chocolate needs to stay at, at all times.”
I nod my appreciation because I’m going to need several cups as I turn my attention back to the tin cans. “And, if I win?”
“What do you want?”
Peace of mind.
I’ve been seeing Jonah for about two weeks now. We met at the school’s fire-safety assembly and, sue me, he’s a damn firefighter, so I was already intrigued.
Then he gave me a sticker on his way out and…well, it wasn’t like how I met Micah, and the attraction isn’t as heavy, but Jonah is refreshing.
No kids.
Not a random hookup.
No connection to the school.
I would only need his help if my house caught on fire.
“You got any more of those stickers?” I mock with a smile, pulling my arm back and chucking the ball toward the tin cans.
I miss.
“Might have some in my car,” he replies simply. “You sure you wanna make that bet?”
“That a sort of currency around here?”
“It’s going to be if you keep asking me about them.”
“Who doesn’t love a flame with a face on it? They’re cute.”
“They were for the children.”
“Don’t fight it, Jonah,” a male voice cuts into the conversation. “Give the woman what she wants.”
It does take a few seconds for my brain to register the new timbre that just blurted through my thoughts, but when it does, my whole body stiffens, and my heart slams violently into my chest because I can’t.
I can’t deal withhim.
It’s been months since our conversation on his front porch, and I’ve been purposely trying to avoid places I think he’d be.
