Chapter 36 Burnt Marshmallow Revelation
JADE
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HIS EYES FLICKER at his hand cupping my breast so firm my nipples are hard.
His jaw tightens as tension ripples down his neck.
“Aw, shit,” he mutters, dropping his hand and welding it in the space between us.
His body fights the sway of the ride as his fingers curl around the bench seat.
“I’m sorry, Jade.”
His other hand grips the window frame so hard his knuckles pale. He sits rigid, his broad shoulders tense. His entire frame is stiff.
I’ve never seen this side of Hart. When we were young, he was reckless.
Height didn’t stop him.
Rules didn’t faze him.
Consequences didn’t scare him.
Boundaries didn’t exist for him.
Where did this fear come from? What have I missed over the years? So much. I’ve missed so much it’s overwhelming.
But one day at a time. One hour. One minute.
We have the rest of our lives to explore, and every second with him is a second chance I never thought I’d take.
“We’re in an enclosed cabin.” I soften my tone the way I do when a lost child is brought to the office. “We’re safe.”
“I don’t think we’re safe.” Hart’s eyes lock on mine, and I can see his genuine fear. “I think this was a bad idea. I gotta close my eyes and think of something different.”
His eyes shut tight like he’s retreating into a place that’s far away from here. He starts naming off scenes at the ranch, open fields, golden sunsets, and the low hum of cattle in the distance.
As his words fade into the air, I take a moment, just a brief second, to really look at him. Without the anger. Without the history between us clouding my thoughts. I let myself really see him.
He’s different now.
Bigger.
Bulkier.
It’s surprising, considering he’d been built to be a quarterback.
But the boy I once knew is long gone, replaced by a man with broad and defined shoulders that stretch the fabric of his shirt. His arms are thick, muscles rippling under the skin with each subtle movement.
The sun hits the contours of his face, and his sharp jawline is roughened by time. The stubble darkening his chin is fuller. He’s always had this strength in him, but now it’s so much more pronounced.
I suppose I’ve noticed all these things from afar, but it’s different today. It can really let it soak in and appreciate all that is him.
“Is it almost done?” His voice wavers like the lost children at the lodge before we locate their parents.
I glance out the side window to see we’re not even at the top yet, and we have the other half of the wheel to load with passengers.
I don’t tell him that. I don’t want him to spiral out of control.
Instead, I decide to distract him from the fear clawing at his throat.
I reach out and cover the top of his hand with my palm. A tremor pulses through his hand, and his gaze flicks to our hands, fixating on the touch between us.
“What’s the most unusual thing you’ve eaten?”
A moment passes as he registers my question, blinking like he needs time to reach him.
“Huh?”
“Like octopus or ant eggs?”
“Good lord, woman,” he groans. “Don’t talk about ants.”
I chuckle. “How’s your body healing from those bites?”
“The burning is gone.”
“So is mine, but I wasn’t attacked like you.”
“By tomorrow, I should be mostly human again. My back got it worse long term, but the other spots were definitely more memorable.”
He smiles at me, but when his eyes drift beyond, his face drains of color.
He drops his hand back to stare at our hands again, his jaw ticking.
“Is my hand irritating your skin?”
“No, ma’am. I like it. I like it a lot.” His grip on the bar loosens, but his chest still rises and falls in ragged breaths.
His hand turns over, and our fingers interlace together. Natural. Perfect. Like they were always meant to be. Despite his fingers being so big that they engulf mine.
The gesture is small, yet it stirs up a storm inside me. My stomach flips, and my core tightens.
Making out at the top doesn’t seem like a bad idea, but I know he’ll never be able to handle it.
Besides, it’s too soon. Way too soon.
“So,” I start, pushing down the thrilling thought. “About that octopus?”
“No, I haven’t eaten any damn octopus.”
His body doesn’t jerk this time when the ride starts and stops for the next group of people.
“Is that actually a thing?” he asks. “Do folks eat octopus?”
“Yes. We get a lot of requests from guests at the lodge. Sannakji is the name, and it’s quite a famous dish in Korea. Not something people eat every day, more of a specialty.”
“Oh yeah.” His shoulders loosen.
“It involves live octopus chopped into pieces and served immediately, often still wriggling on the plate.”
“I’ve tried Rocky Mountain Oysters.” His tone slightly relaxes. “Cajun and Texas-style. So I reckon I could handle some octopus.”
Rocky Mountain Oyster, also known as deep-fried bull or calf testicles, is usually served at festivals as a quirky local delicacy.
“The suction cups on the tentacles are still functional,” I continue, when his thumb starts rubbing my skin in a calming manner. “They can stick to the inside of your mouth or even to your throat. Which makes eating it a bit of an experience in itself.”
“Sounds like an experience.”
I’m about to ask him about fried tarantula, but he beats me to the next question.
“Do you remember why we chose the fair on our list?” There’s a twang of bitterness in his tone.
“Because we couldn’t attend one together back then.”
“It’s kind of shitty if you think about it. Pitting kids against each other.” He swallows hard, but it’s not because of the ride.
He’s reliving our past.
“It is,” I agree.
“I’ve been so mad at Levi and Hope for breaking the feud. I mean, hard up anger.” He inhales an angry breath. “But it wasn’t because I supported the feud.” He looks at me. “It was because I didn’t do it.”
“Hart.” I turn, and my knee bends on the seat. “We were all dealt shitty hands in this fight.”
“I wanna clarify, I’m against it. I never saw you as an enemy, and I’m sorry I made you see me as one.”
“I know you are.”
“No more sneaking around.”
“No more sneaking around.” I place my other hand on his.
“No more hiding.”
“No more hiding,” I repeat. “But I also liked our secret meetings.”
He grins. “Did you?”
“Sneaking into the event storage at school. Sneaking into the library to read together, and—” I bite my lower lip. “Hiding out in the barn together.”
He shifts in his seat, but I know it isn’t the ride anymore. His eyes have a mix of nostalgia, amusement, and lust.
A week ago, this man looked at me like he intended to crush me—not in a good way.
“You know, you made that barn way more exciting than it was. Sitting in the hayloft, talking, touching”—his smirk widens—“makin’ out.”
I laugh until I feel tears brimming in my eyes. “See, it was thrilling in that we can’t be seen together kind of way.”
“My kinky Jade.”
The word elicits something inside me. I’d always been more curious than he was. I’d always wanted to push boundaries.
“I don’t think I’ve tried the kinds of kinks you have.”
He holds up his hand, and a deep grumble comes out of him. “Don’t bring it up, unless you want details.”
“Do go on.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I want to hear every last detail.”
And I do. Not in a jealous way, because there’s no room for jealousy between us.
“Remember that fucking feather Bronx had?”
“The feather tickler?” Did I squeal a little bit?
“Alright. Settle down. It ain’t great.”
“I don’t think you were using it right.”
His eyebrows arch. “I wasn’t fucking using it at all.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. The horror on his face is priceless.
“I’ve been ball beaten, covered in gravy, tied to more bed posts than I ever want to think about.”
All the rumors I made about him, I’d wanted to experiment myself, but I never felt comfortable enough to talk about them to another person, let alone engage in them. Not the way I did with him.
“Are you grateful?” I tilt my head. “I can’t tell. Secretly grateful? Should I say you’re welcome?”
“No, because they weren’t with you.”
My breath swooshes out of my chest.
His hand reaches up and touches the side of my face. Ever so lightly.
“I only ever wanted you to tie me to a bedpost.”
I don’t even know what to say.
“But I guess we should start with baby steps. I’m thinking ring toss. Then the funhouse.”
“I like the funhouse.”
“Good.” His thumb drags over my lower lip. “Now turn the fuck around. You’re making me nervous as hell.”
I don’t know how we spend the entire day at the fair, but we do. We play each game twice and ride all the rides that aren’t high. It’s limiting, and this big, bulky cowboy on small rides is quite a sight, but I’m okay with it.
We eat food and dessert, then more dessert.
When the sky shifts from orange to a deep bluish gray, the lights begin to flicker on. One by one, neon signs buzz to life and the glow pulses, alive with lights, music, and magic.
Long after the Ferris wheel, I forget all the extras on our bucket list. We didn’t heavily pet each other on the Ferris wheel or touch each other while watching in the distorted funhouse mirrors.
The losers of the games didn’t remove articles of clothing.
I didn’t sit on his lap and ride his erection on a concealed ride.
And we didn’t hide in the haystacks and make out with the fair around us.
Am I disappointed? A little.
Would I have made out with him in a haystack? To be decided.
Did I lose all inhibition with him backstage at the male dancer show? Certainly.
Does he bring out an exhibitionist streak in me? Most decidedly.
Am I excited about that knowledge about myself? Whole-heartedly.
I giggle silently and grin.
I wonder if that’s enough to cross it off the list?
“I had fun today.” Hart twirls a piece of cotton candy between his fingers before letting it melt on his tongue.
He moans as the taste rides through him, making me regret not getting a bag.
“I had fun too.” I steal a piece of his cotton candy, bumping his warm hand.
He curls his pinky around mine before letting me go. Then he licks his fingers. And watching his tongue run along his thumb pad does things inside me—reminds me why I added all those extras to our bucket list.
Our bucket list.
I love how that sounds.
“Considering we only did part of each list.” He smirks down at me as if challenging me.
“We were very PG.” I lick the cotton candy off my fingertips.
That’s when I catch him staring.
“I think PG is a critical role for us in getting to know each other again.” The words crawl past his lips like they’re painful to say.
“You did take a go at it on the Ferris wheel.” I scratch above my breast as a reminder.
He chuckles. “That wasn’t intentional.”
“Mhm,” I tease.
We laugh, and it feels so good. The whole day has felt so good. We arrive at the campsite too soon. The fire crackles at the center, ringed with familiar faces sitting on overturned coolers and folding camp chairs, bundled in blankets.
All heads turn as we walked in together.
The sudden silence is heavy as eyes flicker between us and eyebrows rise.
Smirks form.
“What’s going on here?” A blanket is draped over Josie’s shoulder as she leans over the fire with a poker stick, cooking a marshmallow.
“We weren’t—”
“We happened—”
We start at the same time and then glance at one another. There goes that comfort level between us.
I clear my throat. “We decided not to hate each other.”
“Oh, did you?” Josie leans back, taking her poker stick out of the campfire.
“We already know.” Levi lifts his beer.
Josie skips over to me and plucks the bucket list book from under my arm. “We’ve been waiting for this.”
I try to get it back, but she manoeuvres so I can’t reach and prances back to her seat. Hart and I share a very possessive look, but neither of us says a word.
“We have pages to decipher.” Josie balances her poker against the fire pit, placing the marshmallow above the flames.
She plops on the chair and opens it to a page with a raging campfire and melted marshmallows that aren’t intended to be eaten...well, not in the traditional way.
“Go get changed so we can do this already. Looks like we’re talking scary tales around the fire.”
Hart and I share a look because there’s so much more to this bucket list than what they think.
Josie picks up the poker. Scorching flames swallow the marshmallow. Beads of molten sugar drip, and then the marshmallow slowly begins to slide.
My chest tightens as I watch it descend inch by inch, toward her lap.
“Josie! Watch out for the bucket list!”
The jumbo marshmallow swells with flames as it slides off the metal rod and plops on our bucket list.
“Nooo!” I dash to my sister.
It all happens in an instant. Before I reach her, Josie tilts the book to save it, but the blistering flame slides straight onto her lap.
“It’s on me. It’s on me!”
I catch the book as Josie bolts to her feet, jumping and slapping her thigh where the flames catch fire on the hem of her sweater. She knocks over a cup of liquid that splashes into the fire pit. The flames roar.
Sparks scatter.
Chairs tip.
Drinks slosh.
Josie stumbles backwards, toward the open fire—
“Whoa, whoa—got you.” Bronx catches her waist when she nearly stumbles backward into the fire pit rocks.
“It’s still on me!”
A splash of liquid hits her, and she gasps.
I gasp.
The entire circle gasps.
The beer sizzles and extinguishes the blaze, but not without soaking her.
Bronx tosses the can on the ground at his boots and cracks open another one as he drops back to his seat.
Josie glares at him. “You couldn’t maybe pat it out like a human? You had to drench me?”
He grunts without looking at her. “You’re welcome. Fire’s out, ain’t it?” He takes a long gulp of his drink.
She flicks the liquid from her jeans. “Now I smell like burnt sugar and cheap beer.”
“My beer is not cheap.” His family owns a brewing company outside of town and is known for their craft beer.
“I did not need saving, old man.” Josie smells her sopping hands and makes a face.
“What you need is a hose down, kid.”
I stroll away from the commotion to examine the book. It’s not great.
“How’s the damage?” Hart is behind me.
I tilt the book in his direction, revealing a section of gooey flowers and leather sizzled away.
“Sticky. Burnt. But sweet smelling.” I try to scrape off the marshmallow, but it clings to my fingertips, stretching and snapping.
“Well, looks like our book has a new flavor.” Is he fighting back laughter? “Burnt marshmallow.”
“Perfect combination of my two least favorite things.”
“If I recall, the campfire we wrote in that book involved hot marshmallows”—he pauses, watching me acknowledge his intentional words—“and skin.”
The memories hit me fast, making it impossible to keep a straight face.
“Wait,” Dean says from behind us, and I only then realize all eyes are on us. “What the fuck do you mean ‘our’ bucket list?”