Chapter 5
FIVE
WILLA
Osprey Lake is quiet when we arrive, reflecting the pale autumn sky. The sun is beginning to sink, painting the water in streaks of gold and copper, the trees around it a blaze of pinks and purples on their way to oranges and yellows.
It’s perfect.
Beckett walks a few paces ahead of me.
He’s perfect.
His hands are tucked into his jeans pockets, boots crunching against the gravel path. There’s something about him—the broad shoulders, steady stride, strong whiskered jaw—that makes me want to climb him like a tree every time I see him.
Which, is pretty much all the time.
We’ve spent almost every day together these last two weeks. We’ve walked through safety checklists, conducted volunteer training, grabbed coffee while we review weather charts.
Somehow, those business meetings of ours usually end with one of us kissing the other. It’s no wonder the butterflies in my stomach start flapping every time I see him.
Especially this evening.
It’s the day before the bonfire. I want is for everything to go right. But I also want to make out with him. Preferably with my back pushed up against one of these trees.
“Last walkthrough,” he says, scanning the perimeter like he’s mentally mapping every square inch. “We’ll double-check the ring, water tanks, extinguishers. Then tomorrow…” He shrugs. “We see what the wind says.”
“Right,” I murmur, hugging my arms against the chill. “The wind.”
I follow him along the marked path, past the ring of stones they’ve laid, the steel rim Hank helped fabricate glinting in the fading light.
The tanks stand ready, hoses coiled neat as snakes.
Volunteers stacked extra water buckets along the perimeter.
Everything is ready. All we need is permission from the weather.
“What do you think our odds are?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
Beckett pauses, squints at the sky, then looks back at me. “Fifty-fifty.”
I groan. “You’re supposed to tell me ninety percent. Maybe eighty. At least something hopeful.”
His mouth quirks. “I don’t sugarcoat, Willa. You’d hate me if I did.”
“Not true.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “I’d love you for it.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and heat flashes across my cheeks. Love? Oh god. Too soon. Too much. I clear my throat and hurry on. “I mean—I’d appreciate the gesture.”
His gaze lingers on me, heavy, like he heard the word I didn’t mean to say. Then he nods toward the lake. “Tell me how it’s supposed to look. Tomorrow night. If everything goes right.”
I glance out at the water, the way the trees lean in close, like they’re holding their breath. Closing my eyes, I picture it.
“There’s music playing,” I begin. “Fiddles, banjos, maybe a little Johnny Cash. People laughing, sipping cider. Families wrapped in blankets. Couples sneaking off for a kiss by the water. And right here—” I gesture to the ring—“a fire so tall it reaches the stars. Sparks shooting up like they’re dancing. ”
I open my eyes. He’s watching me, not the lake. His expression is intent, reverent. Like my words matter more than any weather forecast.
I swallow hard and my pulse quickens. “I just want people to feel what my parents felt. The magic of it. The connection. Like anything could happen when you stand around that fire together.”
His jaw tightens, but not in the way it does when he’s shutting someone down. Softer. Sadder. “I hope I get to see it. Your dream. I really do. If the weather cooperates, I want to see it.”
I blink, thrown by the warmth in his tone. “You mean that?”
“Yeah.” He looks back at the water. “Your mom would’ve wanted it too.”
My throat catches. “You really knew her.”
“Knew her?” His laugh is low, rough. “She carried me through deployments, Willa. Not literally, but… she wrote. She emailed. Sent packages when the mail system worked. She checked in like she knew when I needed it most. Everyone else kind of fizzled in their communications after a while, but she didn’t. ”
Tears sting my eyes, hot and fast. “That sounds like her.”
“I would’ve been… a lot lonelier without her,” he admits.
I can’t say it. I can’t say “I’m falling for you.” But the truth swells in my chest.
Since she died, one of the things that made me saddest was thinking Mom wouldn’t get to meet the man I’d spend my life with. That he’d never get to know her. Two of the three most important people in my life never crossing paths.
It’s a constant thought lurking in the back of my head.
But here’s Beckett. Talking about her like she was every bit as important to him as she was to me.
In a way, it almost feels like she night be the reason we’re standing here together now.
It’s probably silly to think that, but wouldn’t it be amazing?
I must be wearing every thought on my face, because Beckett’s eyes darken, and then he’s stepping closer. His hand cups the side of my neck, rough palm warm against my skin.
And then he kisses me.
His mouth claims mine, and I gasp against him. Clutching the front of his shirt. His tongue slides against mine, and the world narrows to the heat and need growing between us.
He presses me back gently against a tree. Just the way I imagined before.
Looking at me, manifesting this moment of pleasure.
And… it is a true pleasure.
His body crowds mine. One hand cradles the back of my head. The other slides up and down my waist.
I feel him everywhere. Solid muscle. Pure heat. The faint scrape of his beard against my skin.
I break for air, panting, and he kisses the corner of my mouth, my jaw, down to the soft spot beneath my ear. My knees threaten to give out.
“Beckett…” My voice is breathless, wrecked even, as he nuzzles the side of my neck.
His lips curve against my skin sending a fresh ripple of delight through my whole body. “Say the word and I’ll stop.”
I don’t. I can’t. I kiss him again, hard, pushing myself on my toes to meet his lips again. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. His groan rumbles into my chest, and my whole body sparks like the fire we’re fighting to light.
The whole damn world seems to turn on its side.
When he pulls back, we’re both gasping. His forehead rests against mine.
“We should head back,” he says hoarsely. “Before I forget how to be a gentleman.”
My laugh is shaky. “You don’t hear me complaining.”
“Don’t test me.” He brushes another soft kiss over my lips.“Let’s have dinner? My place. Tonight.”
“Yes,” I breathe.
The thought of being in his home, just us, makes heat bloom low in my belly.
We walk back to his truck in silence, hands brushing, smiles tugging at our mouths like we can’t quite contain what just happened. He opens my door for me, that old-fashioned gesture making my chest ache.
Winking at me, he slides into the driver’s seat and turns the key. The engine coughs. Stutters. Dies.
He frowns, tries again. Nothing but a hollow click.
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh. “Problem, Fire Marshal?”
He growls under his breath, muttering something about the starter. Then he glances at me, sheepish and frustrated all at once.
“Looks like dinner might have to wait.”