Page 33 of Summer Ever After

Chapter Eleven

As Beth drew her sweater tighter around her shoulders, the cool night air brushed against her skin. She cautiously glanced behind her, making sure she was alone, before following the lantern-lit path towards the campfire circles.

She had always felt safe on the camp since they legally kept Ian from the grounds. Still, with his recent attempts, she was cautious.

These fire pits were used at least five times a week. Twice a week there was a major event with chocolate fountains and champagne. Tonight was one of those nights.

Live music by Ronny and his guitar was playing softly in front of one fire. Guests enjoyed the s’mores, the drinks, and the company of others.

The smell of wood smoke and toasted marshmallows drifted through the warm evening air, mixing with the low hum of conversation, music, and laughter. All of this warmed her.

She wasn’t technically scheduled to work the event. Her instinct had been to go straight home, lock the doors, and curl up with a book, but just knowing that Aaron was going to be here changed her mind.

Now, as she stepped into the ring of Adirondack chairs and picnic benches, the firelight painted everyone in soft gold and orange. Guests lounged with drinks in hand, swapping stories about the day’s activities. The lazy chords from Ronny’s guitar rolled out over the group and gave the whole scene an easy, laid-back rhythm.

She slipped onto the edge of a bench, her gaze drifting across the flames. The fire’s heat was welcome, but the laughter and closeness of the circle pressed at her nerves. She had always loved the idea of campfires—the camaraderie, the freedom—but she’d never actually felt comfortable being at the center of them.

“Glad you made it.”

Her heart gave a jump at the deep voice. Aaron stood behind her, casual in jeans and a sweatshirt, his hands shoved into his pockets, like he belonged here more than anyone else.

His grin curved slowly, warm and steady. “You look like you could use some marshmallows. Want me to make you a couple s’mores?”

She blinked at him. The absurdity of this big, capable man offering her marshmallows nearly made her laugh. “How are your s’more making skills?”

He leaned closer to her until he was just a breath away. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, his voice dropping conspiratorially, “but I’m probably the best at the camp. Secret skill. One of my many hidden talents.”

The corner of her mouth tugged despite herself. He made it too easy sometimes, slipping past her defenses before she realized what was happening.

“I hear you also play the guitar?”

He nodded but glanced around. “Yeah, but don’t say that too loudly. Ronny will hand it over.”

He nodded towards the group across the fire, where two guests were dramatically failing at roasting marshmallows. “Amateurs. Charcoal on a stick.”

Beth laughed before she could stop herself, the sound slipping out softer, freer than she intended. “And you think you could do better?”

“Easily.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice low. “Perfectly golden brown, every time. No blackened blobs.”

She arched a brow, meeting his eyes in the flickering light. “That’s a bold claim.”

His lips curved, that slow grin that seemed to undo her nerves one thread at a time. “Want me to prove it?”

Before she could answer, someone passed a bag of marshmallows and skewers down the circle. Aaron snagged one without hesitation, speared some marshmallows with practiced ease, and set to work. He turned the skewer carefully over the fire, patient, unhurried, as if this small task was as important as any.

Beth found herself watching him instead of the flames, the steady way he moved, the quiet focus in his profile, the hint of amusement tugging at his mouth.

When he finally pulled the marshmallows back, they were, maddeningly, perfectly golden. Then he turned his back on her and got to work putting the s’more together.

“There,” he said. When Aaron was done, he handed her a plate with two massive s’mores on it and then grabbed a glass of champagne and set it beside her. She was impressed. The s’mores looked like a work of art. So much so that she pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures before biting into them.

“Okay,” she admitted softly, “I’m impressed.” He wasn’t lying. They were the best things she’d ever had. The sweetness melted instantly against her tongue. “How did you learn to do this?” she asked between bites.

Aaron’s eyes caught the firelight, heat sparking in their depths. “I told you. Secret skill.” Aaron leaned back beside her, his long legs stretching out towards the fire, and shrugged lightly. “I was in Boy Scouts.”

“That doesn’t explain this.” She motioned with the s’more.

He smiled. “I spent a lot of nights sitting around a fire with my folks.”