Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“You’re back!” Katherine squeals and loops her hands around Ed’s neck. “We’re going to do s’mores on the beach. Can you make a fire?”
“I have that covered,” Hunter says. My heart lifts in my chest a little at his voice. No doubt due to the fact that I haven’t had to nag him three hundred times to organize the fire.
We all make our way down to the beach. The men argue about the best way to make a fire while the women of the group choose throw blankets from the basketful I placed down there earlier. We don’t get involved in the fire-making process—not because we couldn’t do it, despite having zero experience. No, we watch because there’s not a better show on Netflix. These guys trying to assert their dominance by arguing about log arrangement is ridiculous and hilarious, and I’m absolutely here for it.
When the fire is finally going, the flickering flames turn the air a little magical. Everyone is smiling and laughing as I pass around skewers and marshmallows. And it doesn’t matter even a little bit that someone gets sand in the bag of marshmallows.
“Did you get me one?” Hunter asks as he comes and takes a seat next to me.
I hand him a skewer with two marshmallows on it. “All prepped and ready for the fire.”
I pull my knees up to my chest and hold out my skewer, the flames licking the sugar like they’re starved.
Hunter sits close enough that we touch. He’s cross-legged, his knee is slotted in under my legs. His shoulder grazes mine.
I glance over at him, shooting him a look that says, You’re taking this couple thing very seriously, but he just grins.
Fisher pulls a guitar from God knows where and starts playing the chords of a song I can’t quite place. He begins to sing.
Everyone’s hazy with alcohol and sea air. I feel so . . . comfortable. So free. So relaxed. For the first time since we got here, I feel like I can switch off a little bit. I don’t have to field jabs from one of my cousins or my mother. I don’t have to fight with Hunter.
The marshmallow goes gooey and golden on the outside. I stack chocolate on a graham cracker, sandwich the marshmallow between the chocolate and another cracker, and pull it off the skewer. It’s a nine point two for execution, if I do say so myself.
“That’s impressive,” Hunter says.
“Thank you for appreciating my s’mores game. It’s a lifetime of dedication to my craft.”
He chuckles and I offer him the confection. “Wanna swap?” I reach for his skewer.
“Sure,” he says. I don’t know why, but I like that he agreed. I like that he’s not holding grudges. That he’s accepting my peace offering. Maybe he’s poked a small hole in my armor, and he sees something he can like.
I glance from the fire and his uncooked marshmallow back to Hunter, who’s biting into the s’more. I hadn’t noticed before how nice his teeth are. How big his mouth is. How masculine his hands are. I suppress a shudder and turn back to my skewer.
I busy myself making my own s’more with the same practiced skill. There’s a lot I’m not good at—like wearing yellow—but I can make a s’more like I invented them.
I sink my teeth in and my eyelids flutter shut. Bliss.
I open them to find Hunter looking at me.
“You look like you’re enjoying that,” he says.
“What can I say? I make the best s’mores.”
He reaches over and, for a moment, I think he’s going to take my sandwich, but instead he swipes his thumb over the bottom of my lip and holds it in front of me. It has a huge dollop of marshmallow on it.
“Here,” he says.
I must flush beet red. He wants me to lick his thumb? His eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s daring me. I open my mouth a little, and he slips his thumb inside. My insides turn into gooey sugar as I close my lips around him. My heart is thundering in my chest, and Hunter’s eyes flare.
Fisher starts to play another tune, and the change in tempo breaks the spell between Hunter and me. We turn back to the fire like we’ve both been caught doing something we shouldn’t.
Hunter’s tapping his foot with the music of Fisher’s new song, then starts to sing along. The lyrics are about sugar and spice and all things nice. Hunter has a good voice—low and husky—and the vibrations spread between us. Fisher starts strumming more loudly as he and Hunter sing about Sally Cinnamon. It’s not a song I’ve heard before. Hunter turns to me as he sings, and I grin up at him. He smiles around the words, then slides his hand up my back. Our elbows and knees were touching before—parts of our bodies making contact almost by accident. But this isn’t an accident. Hunter is touching me like he’s my friend, like he’s my boyfriend. But I don’t stop smiling. His large, warm hand spans across my back, keeping me steady.