Jet salutes. “Correct.”
Then she grabs Charlotte and Becky and announces loudly, “We’re getting hot chocolate!” even though she already has one in her hand.
They disappear into the crowd, leaving Faith and me in a bubble of warm firelight and cold January air.
The music switches to something slow, soft, a tune I’ve heard at every Buckhorn gathering since childhood. Couples start drifting toward each other. Some sway. Some pretend they don’t want to.
Faith looks up at me.
“It’s loud out here,” she murmurs.
She’s not wrong.
Between the band, the kids, the smell of chili, the popping fire, and Jet screaming across the pavilion, the bedlam presses close.
“You wanna get out of here for a minute?”
She nods. She’s been waiting for me to ask.
We walk down the familiar dirt path toward the lake. Past the horse trailers, the old fair booth with peeling paint, and the row of trucks parked crookedly in the grass because Buckhorn has never mastered parallel parking.
The quiet settles around us as a blanket. The moon glints off the lake’s dark surface. Frogs croak from somewhere under the dock. Our boots crunch over the frosty grass.
Faith hugs her coat tighter. “I used to come here a lot. After school. After… everything.”
“I know,” I say. “You used to sit on that old dock and pretend you weren’t waiting for someone to ask what was wrong.”
A surprised little laugh escapes her. “You always asked.”
“Yeah. Well.” I shrug. “I cared.”
She looks at me as if that word matters more than it should.
We reach the lake’s edge. Our breaths fog. Somewhere behind us, the crowd cheers again—someone won a raffle or caught a sparkler on fire.
But out here, it’s just us.
Faith stops walking.
So do I.
“Dallas,” she whispers, “that night at the barn…”
Heat runs through me fast, sharp, unavoidable. “I remember.”
“I didn’t expect to want you.” Her voice trembles. “And I didn’t expect to still.”
My pulse jumps at her honesty.
I step closer, slow enough she could stop me.
She doesn’t.
I cup her cheek gently. Slow enough for her to flinch away if she needs to. Instead, she leans into my palm, breath hitching. And then her lips brush mine.
A spark, small but bright, pops between us.
I don’t give her time to hesitate.
