A blue-orange fireball erupts, swallowing the entire thing.
Stryker’s laugh rolls out of him, deep and surprised. “Jesus, Allie. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, is it?”
I jerk the stick back, staring at the blackened torch on the end. “I think I got too close.”
“You think?” He’s still grinning, eyes crinkled at the corners, firelight highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. “Here. Watch.”
He skewers a fresh marshmallow. He’s so close his thigh presses against mine. Then he extends his arm and keeps the marshmallow in the sweet spot.
Concentrating only on the task, he turns the treat in slow, patient circles.
The skin blisters, then blushes gold, then deepens to caramel. The smell is pure sugar and the childhood I never had.
“Let it take its time.”
My second attempt is barely better. I get cocky, dip too low again, and the thing ignites like a tiny supernova. I squeak—actually squeak—and wave it frantically while flames climb higher.
Stryker plucks the stick from my fingers before I set myself on fire. “All right, firebug. That’s enough arson for one night.”
He blows out my flaming disaster, then offers me his perfectly roasted marshmallow. The outside is crisp and golden.
I take it carefully, cradling the warm, gooey perfection between my fingers like it might vanish. When I bite down, sugar and smoke and pure, ridiculous happiness flood my mouth.
Once it’s gone, I look at him. “Oops. I was supposed to make a little sandwich out of it, wasn’t I? Not just eat it up.”
“You get to do whatever you want.”
Always the hero, he roasts a second and turns it over.
“You’re good at this.” I assemble my s’more with chocolate and graham crackers.
“Years of practice. Military camping trips weren’t always about survival training.”
It’s the most personal thing he’s shared, and I find myself hungry for more. Military. I knew it. But he hasn’t admitted to the whole of it, I know. Special forces. “Do you miss it?”
He considers this, staring into the flames. “I miss the brotherhood. The certainty of the mission.” He glances at me. “But I don’t miss the politics. Or watching good people get hurt because someone in Washington made a bad call.”
“Is that why you left?”
“Part of it.” He puts together a treat of his own and takes a bite.
A small bit of melty chocolate smears at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, I reach over and brush it away with my thumb.
Oh dear God.
What have I done?
Both of us go still. His skin is warm under my fingertip, and his eyes turn even darker in the firelight.
“Allie.” My name is a whisper, rough with want.
I should pull my hand away. Should make some joke about chocolate and s’mores or anything other than the attraction arcing between us. Instead, I find myself leaning closer.
A twig snaps in the darkness beyond the fire, and I jerk back, every survival instinct suddenly screaming.
Stryker is on his feet before I can blink, his hand moving toward his weapon with practiced ease.
Without me being aware of it, I’m also on my feet, gripping the gun that’s tucked beneath my hoodie.
