Page 34 of Summer Ever After

She tilted her head. “They passed away in a crash?” she asked, remembering overhearing someone talk about it.

“Plane crash when I was twenty.” He nodded. “You lost your dad?”

She nodded back and took a sip of the champagne to sooth the fire that came with the memories.

Beth’s pulse skipped, her mouth suddenly too dry. She looked back at the flames quickly, trying to ignore the pain and how close he was, how much she wanted to lean just a little nearer.

As the guitar music shifted into a rowdy singalong, Beth let herself lean back a little.

She shouldn’t feel safer just because he was here. She shouldn’t want to.

But she did.

Even with the laughter and music swirling around them, she felt her awareness narrow to the space between them. His arm brushed against hers, casual, but it sent a flicker of warmth up her sleeve that had nothing to do with the flames.

Around them, guests laughed and sang, the guitar growing louder, a second voice joining in with a harmony that made everyone cheer. It was the kind of night that should feel carefree. For once, Beth let herself lean into it.

She had just polished off the last bite of her s’more when Ronny set his guitar aside to grab another drink. Someone across the circle shouted for him to keep playing, but Ronny only waved them off.

And then, exactly like Aaron had warned, Ronny’s gaze landed on him.

“Hey, why don’t you take over for a song?” he called, already motioning with the guitar.

Beth turned her head, catching the look Aaron shot back, half amused, half exasperated. “Told you this would happen,” he murmured under his breath before standing to take the guitar.

Her pulse picked up as he walked towards Ronny, the firelight catching in his hair and shadowing the strong line of his jaw. He accepted the guitar with the kind of ease that made it clear this wasn’t the first time he’d held one. When he settled back next to her, the campfire circle hushed a little, expectant.

Aaron strummed once, twice, testing the strings and the cords, then let his fingers fall into a gentle rhythm. The soft, rolling chords silenced the last bits of chatter. His voice followed, low, rich, and steady, carrying a quiet warmth that slid into Beth’s chest before she could brace herself.

The song was old, one she half-recognized, a ballad that spoke of love not lost but longed for, of finding safety in another person’s arms. It wasn’t flashy, no soaring notes or showmanship. Just simple, honest, and impossibly intimate, like he was singing to one person instead of twenty.

Beth.

Her throat tightened. Around her, the other guests swayed softly, couples leaning into each other, eyes closed, letting the music wash over them. But Beth couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. She could only watch Aaron’s fingers glide over the strings, his expression relaxed but intent, his voice pulling something from inside her she hadn’t let herself feel in years.

When the last note faded, the circle erupted into applause and cheers. After that, he played another softer song but didn’t sing along. She had a feeling it was something original.

It was beautiful. Sad, somehow.

When he was done, Ronny walked over and clapped him on the shoulder, and Aaron handed over the guitar.

“Thanks for filling in again, man.” Ronny winked and then moved off to start playing again. Beth barely noticed the new music. Her hands were clasped tight in her lap, her heart hammering a little harder.

She wanted to ask him about the song, but she was almost frozen.

Aaron glanced over at her.

“So,” he said, tossing a small twig into the flames, “now that you’ve heard me play guitar, I don’t want you to think I’m a one-trick pony. I make a mean smoked brisket, too. That’s practically a talent.”

She relaxed almost instantly as her lips curved up. “That sounds suspiciously like bragging.”

“Only because it’s true,” he said with a grin. “Your turn. What’s your hidden talent?”

She hesitated, pulling the edge of her sweater tighter around her. It wasn’t often people asked her about herself without strings attached, and the words felt oddly heavy on her tongue. Finally, she answered with the first thing that came to mind, “Numbers.”

Aaron cocked his head, clearly intrigued. “Numbers?”

“Mm-hmm. I can look at a spreadsheet once and remember almost every figure. Percentages, budgets, totals… it just sticks. I’ve always been like that. My dad swore that I would someday go into accounting, but at the time I thought that sounded… boring.” She gave a small shrug. “Turns out, being the one who can untangle a camp’s budget has its perks.”