Supper-club staff in white aprons streaked with grease stood elbow to elbow with old ranch hands who had traded hats for bottle caps tonight.Folding chairs formed a tight circle around the fire.
Nobody minded whose knees bumped whose or whose laughter rose loudest.Near the fence line someone tuned a battered guitar between bites of cornbread.
He took in the scene without pause.His skin prickled and his neck flushed while tension sat tight under the celebration.The Mason jar felt sticky in his hand.He scanned for her.He always did no matter the room.
Kyla stood half turned by the deepest part of the fire.The hem of her dress skimmed the tops of her boots.Her laugh tangled with Marisol’s and cut above the noise.Someone passed her another jar.
She accepted it with both hands.Her face gleamed from whiskey and summer sweat.Coils pinned haphazard above her brow.
She caught him staring.She tilted her chin and flashed a grin that hooked his stomach.She mouthed something.It might have beencome hereoryou are late.
Then she raised her drink high and pointed straight at him.Sly and unbothered.She called him out as plain as a barn bell.
He bit down on his own grin.Lately she had grown reckless with the way she held his attention in public.Ownership was no longer something she meant to keep quiet.
Last week he had barely escaped an earful from Ruthann about public displays not suitable for produce night.Tonight the postmistress sat halfway into the bourbon herself and argued the case for open-mouth toasts.
If anyone noticed how his whole body tuned itself to Kyla no one said a thing.At least not loud enough for him to call it out.Across the flames she stuck her tongue between her teeth in a gesture that would get her spanked if they were not surrounded.
Marisol nudged her side and whispered something.Kyla rolled her eyes and leaned back until her head tipped.
The fire threw her collarbones into relief.Her bare arms carried marks from earlier.The sight sent memory through him.Hands.Her lips.Her grip tight on his hips when she forgot everything but what she wanted.
He moved through the knot of bodies.Someone pressed a plate of lukewarm sausage into his free hand.Another shouted in his ear for a wedding toast.
He ignored both.
His gaze stayed pinned to Kyla.Closer now she slid her tongue along her bottom lip.Her mouth glistened.Red faded where she had licked the whiskey away.
Their eyes met and locked for a heartbeat.The space pressed in around them.She held the gaze.His neck flushed warmer.Behind her Marisol lifted her own jar and crowed to the almost-newlyweds before shoving Kyla with a shoulder.
Titus braced his stance.The earth underfoot felt less steady than usual.Not from the booze but from how near she stood.It kept crashing into him that after tomorrow everything would belong to her.
His last name.The place he laid his head.The space she had carved out beside him whether he had invited it or not.
Smoke caught at the back of his throat.“We’re running out of firewood,” someone behind him—maybe one of the co-op boys—yelped.
“Titus can damn well get married with a pile of ashes if he has to,” the postmistress shouted.
It barely registered.He kept his jaw tight.The Mason jar hung loose at his side.His heartbeat stayed stubborn.He took in the scene again.Kyla stood bare-armed and daring him.The night carried that last reckless permission.His mouth went dry.Bourbon helped but not enough.
She beckoned.Subtle.Only for him.Her finger crooked at thigh height.The jar in her other hand caught the firelight.A tiny tease.A secret invitation while the whole alley hollered none the wiser.
He wanted to cross that distance.He wanted to get her alone and take what the rest of town pretended did not happen when the lights went out and her knees met the mattress beside his.
He stayed put a moment longer.His eyes stayed on her.He savored the stretch between them.After tomorrow public or private would not matter.Her lips shaped a threat.
Do not make me come get you.
He almost dared her.People raised jars for toasts he never heard.All he had, all he wanted, was her.Brash and wide-eyed.Grinning at him like she was about to ruin his night for the better.He nodded tight and quick.A promise for later curled under his tongue.
Glass shattered on flagstone somewhere behind him.The noise jumped a level but he only half noticed.She was his home and his hazard both.Especially now with forever less than a night away.
Marisol aimed for his ribs and nearly sent sausage and whiskey to the dirt.She took his current drink from him, then shoved a full Mason jar into his grip.
“You trying to pace yourself or are you already too old for this?”Her smirk made it a challenge, not a question.
Titus shot her a glare but the corners of his mouth twitched up.The bourbon burned hotter than the fire and slid raw down his throat.
