Page 45 of Something About September

“Eagle Scout training never leaves you,” he said with a grin, coaxing the flames higher. “Plus, I want to make sure you’re warm enough.”

The fire caught properly, crackling and sending up small sparks into the darkening sky. Around them, the other beachgoers began to pack up and leave. Stars flickered to life overhead.

“This feels so high school,” Rebecca said, leaning against his shoulder as they watched the flames dance. “But in a good way. I didn’t love high school.”

He laughed. “Yeah. So much better.”

“Even for the football star prom king?”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she felt like the sparks from the fire were traveling through her body. “No comparison. I actually know what I’m doing now.”

Rebecca tilted her face up to look at him. She wasn’t sure she knew what she was doing—but she knew what she wanted to be doing.

She touched his face, pulled him closer. He put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her close until their lips were almost touching, but not quite.

It was agony; it was ecstasy.

It surprised her that she wasn’t getting used to this, not at all. Every time they kissed felt like a first.

When they broke apart, Rebecca felt dizzy with want, so she kissed him again, and again. Eventually, they were lying down on the blankets. She could hear the crackle of the fire as they explored each other, his lips on hers, his tongue a delicious swirl inside her mouth, and hers the same. He slid his hand under her sweater, and even just his hand on her bare waist sent shivers through her body. She kissed him deeper, put her own hand under his shirt, let her fingers rove up and down his muscled back, pulled him closer even though there was no closer they could possibly be.

She stopped kissing him and stared into his eyes. Even in the darkness, she could see the intensity, feel the want he had for her, too. She shivered again, and he whispered, “The fire’s out. Should we get going?”

She disentangled herself, regretfully. Together, they poured water on the still-glowing coals of the fire until they lost their heat, with puffs of skyward steam. Then they walked back to his car, Cort carrying the blankets and chairs in one muscled arm and holding her hand firmly with the other. In the car, once he had turned it on—“The Book of Love” by the Magnetic Fields flowed sexily, lazily through the speakers—they kissed again. Then he started the truck, turned the heat on low, kept his hand on her thigh as they drove the dark country roads back toward Bramley Hollow. She felt languid and happy, warm but with that almost-euphoric feeling of having just been cold.

When they pulled up outside the diner, it felt too soon. She didn’t want the night to be over, not yet. Neither of them moved immediately.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Rebecca said, suddenly shy.

“Me, too.” Cort turned to face her fully. “Thank you for saying yes to a date with me.”

“Thank you for asking me out.” She hesitated, but not for long. She leaned over to kiss him, and her desire rushed back. She forced herself to pull away. “You should get home.”

“Pip has a sleepover. I don’t have to—”

She wordlessly grabbed his hand and led him upstairs. It suddenly felt urgent—like, after all these years of waiting, they no longer had any time to waste. Or, she had the fleeting thought as they almost fell through the door kissing, like they didn’t have much time left at all.

Chapter 29

Rebecca woke slowly, the autumn morning light already shining high and pale through the curtains. For a moment, she didn’t move. She didn’t want to risk breaking whatever spell this was.

Cort lay beside her on his back, one arm flung above his head, the other resting lightly across her waist as if he’d reached for her in his sleep and found what he was looking for. His hair was a mess, darker at the crown where it still held a trace of damp, his lashes casting faint shadows against his cheeks. He looked younger like this. Like the Cort she remembered from high school. But this version of him was different, too. This version felt like hers.

She shifted slightly, and his fingers tightened at her waist, instinctive. He didn’t wake, but his mouth curved into the faintest smile, as if even asleep he knew exactly where she was, and he liked that.

She traced the back of her finger along his forearm, barely touching. His eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice rough, still halfway somewhere else.

“Hey,” she said back.

He smiled, warm and unguarded, and pulled her closer without a word, pressing his forehead to hers. “Did we sleep at all last night?” he murmured. “Not that I’m complaining…”

She laughed quietly.

“I’d make you breakfast,” she said, “but I don’t have any eggs left. Should we get up and walk to the market?”

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