Chapter 17
#WANTSMORE
ADRIAN
The SERA Holiday Bonfire was exactly the kind of picture-perfect winter event that would make my followers weep with envy.
Golden firelight danced against snow-laden pine boughs, rustic log benches were arranged in perfect Instagram-worthy circles, and the scent of woodsmoke and pine hung in the crisp evening air like nature’s own aromatherapy.
I reveled in wearing my own coat this time—a thrift shop favorite in navy wool with subtle copper threading that would photograph beautifully against the flames—and pulled out my phone to capture some establishing shots.
The marshmallow roasting stations looked like something out of a holiday movie, complete with vintage-style wire baskets and glass jars of graham crackers that caught the firelight like amber.
“Flame-proof content for a flame-proof evening,” I murmured to myself.
Vic had been thrilled about this fire safety sponsorship—apparently, there was huge money to be made in creating educational content that didn’t feel educational.
And after seeing Fire Chief Judd Kincaid’s rugged headshot on the Legacy Fire Department website, I’d understood why.
The man was built like a lumberjack who moonlighted as a male model. All broad shoulders and serious jaw, with the kind of competent authority that made people want to follow his instructions. Even the fire safety ones.
But as I panned my phone across the gathering crowd, looking for the best lighting, my chest tightened with a familiar anxiety.
Maddox wasn’t here yet.
He’d asked me to grab a ride out here with someone else when a family portrait session had gone long. Now, I was second-guessing his explanation, wondering if he’d show up at all or if this afternoon’s easy phone conversation had been another one of his emotional false starts.
Before I could spiral, the fire chief met my eyes with a quirked eyebrow. I nodded and began recording.
“Alright, folks!” His deep voice cut through the chatter. “Gather round for your mandatory fun safety briefing!”
Judd stepped up onto a makeshift platform—actually just a wide slice of tree stump—and the crowd naturally gravitated toward him. He was even more impressive in person, all six-foot-something of him wrapped in official-looking navy gear that somehow made fire safety seem sexy.
“Rule number one,” he announced, his voice carrying easily across the clearing. “Don’t wave flaming marshmallows in your friends’ faces unless you want to meet me again—at the ER.”
A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. I refocused on my phone screen, caught off guard by how naturally charming he was. There was something disarming about his gruff earnestness, the way he managed to make fire safety feel like friendly advice from your favorite uncle rather than a lecture.
“Rule number two: if your marshmallow catches fire, don’t panic. Blow it out gently. Don’t wave it around like you’re conducting the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.” He demonstrated with a skewer, his expression deadpan. “This isn’t the Fourth of July.”
More laughter from the audience. I noticed several people—mostly women, but a few men, too—watching him with obvious appreciation.
A couple near me whispered something about him being “the one who’s always showing up at Timber with random safety inspections,” which only made me more curious.
Why did he and Alex seem to have it out for each other?
“And rule number three,” Judd continued, scanning the crowd with mock seriousness. “If anyone tries to convince you that s’mores taste better when you char the marshmallow to a crisp, they’re lying. That’s not rustic or old-school; that’s just bad technique.”
I was so focused on filming his surprisingly engaging safety talk that I didn’t notice the familiar presence behind me until a low voice murmured directly in my ear.
“Don’t fall for the chief. He’ll have you filling out safety inspection paperwork before taking you to bed.”
My skin prickled at Maddox’s proximity, the warmth of his breath against my neck.
I turned to find him standing close enough that I could smell his soap and see the amusement dancing in his eyes.
He looked relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen before—no tension in his shoulders, no guarded expression.
Just easy confidence and a hint of a smile that made my stomach flip.
“Jealous, Sullivan?” I whispered back, not bothering to hide my grin.
“Of a guy who’s more likely to have spare fire blankets in his bedside table than toys or lube? Hardly.” But his eyes stayed on me rather than the chief, and something warm unfurled in my chest.
Chief Kincaid wrapped up his talk to enthusiastic applause, and the crowd began dispersing toward the various activity stations. Maddox produced a thermos from his jacket pocket, unscrewing the cap to release the scent of cinnamon and something stronger.
“Spiked cider,” he explained, offering it to me. “Family recipe. Maya suggested you might need a little warming from the inside out.”
Instead of making an inappropriate comment about another way he could warm me from the inside out, I accepted the thermos gratefully, taking a sip of what turned out to be the most perfect combination of apple, spices, and just enough whiskey to do exactly as promised.
“Your sister has excellent taste in beverages.”
“She has excellent taste in general,” he replied, settling beside me on one of the log benches positioned near the main fire pit. “Which is why she’s been insufferable about you since day one.”
The casual admission caught me off guard. “Insufferable how?”
“Constantly reminding me that I’m an idiot for not being nicer to you. For…” He gestured vaguely between us, then reached for the bag of marshmallows on the table nearby.
“For?” I asked, accepting a skewer from him.
Maddox hesitated before flashing an unexpected smile. “For not teaching you proper s’mores technique. Watch and learn, city boy. Watch and learn.”
Before I could call him out for avoiding the question, he was already moving toward the fire, positioning his marshmallow at the perfect distance from the flames.
I fumbled for my phone, suddenly needing the familiar comfort of creating content, and walked closer to the fire.
“Okay, everyone,” I said to the camera, finding my professional voice. “Fire safety lesson number one: maintain proper distance between marshmallow and flame. As demonstrated by—”
“That’s close enough. Try not to set yourself on fire, Hayes,” Maddox called, noting my position. His voice carried a familiar note of fond exasperation.
I zoomed in on his face, catching his concentrated expression as he rotated his marshmallow with practiced precision. “As demonstrated by local s’mores expert and fire-safety know-it-all Maddox Sullivan.”
“Some of us grew up around actual fire,” he replied without looking away from his marshmallow. “Instead of gas fireplaces activated by wall switches.”
“Hey, those wall switches are very complicated. There’s an on position and an off position. Sometimes there’s even a timer.” I moved closer and held my own skewer toward the flames, immediately catching it on fire. “Shit!”
“Language,” Maddox chided, but I could hear him trying not to laugh. “And blow it out gently. Don’t—”
I waved the flaming marshmallow frantically, trying to extinguish it and only succeeding in creating a sticky, charred mess. The laughter finally escaped him—a rich, genuine sound that made my chest tight with something I didn’t want to examine too closely.
“What the hell is going on over here?” Judd asked, moving swiftly to remove the skewer from my hand and stick it in the empty tin can at his feet to starve it of oxygen. “Did you even listen to a word I said? Are you demonstrating what not to do?”
I held back my laughter while trying not to notice Maddox’s eyes dancing in smug satisfaction. “Sorry, Chief. I got carried away.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re putting people at risk because you can’t put your phone down.”
Alex Marian stepped forward, grabbing Judd’s arm and trying to pull him away. “Hey! He was just trying to film content like you asked him to. Take it easy on the guy. It’s not his fault you’re impossible to please.”
The chief’s eyes snapped to Alex’s and narrowed, causing a fuck-ton more sparks than my flaming marshmallow ever had. “Not sure you’re the one who should be giving safety advice, Firebug,” he growled.
Maddox met my eye and tilted his head over to the side. The two of us slowly backed away to another spot around the fire before either of the other men noticed we’d left.
“Jesus,” I murmured, glancing back at them. “Are they going to fight or fuck?”
Maddox watched the two of them sparring. “This has been going on for months. Maybe it’s just the way they are.”
“Okay, take two,” I announced to the camera, grabbing another marshmallow. “This time with adult supervision.”
Maddox stepped behind me, his arms coming around to guide my hands on the skewer. The position was intimate enough that several people around the fire exchanged knowing looks, but I found I didn’t care.
Maddox didn’t seem to care either. His chest was solid against my back, his hands warm over mine as he helped me position the marshmallow at the optimal distance from the flames.
“Patience,” he murmured near my ear. “Let it toast slowly. The goal is golden brown, not nuclear meltdown.”
“I don’t do patience well,” I admitted, very aware of how perfectly I fit against him.
“I’ve noticed.” His voice was dry, but his hands stayed steady over mine. “Just focus on the marshmallow. Stop thinking about the camera. Just be here.”
I tried to follow his advice, watching the white surface gradually turn golden under the gentle heat. There was something meditative about it, the simple focus required to rotate the skewer slowly and evenly. For once, I wasn’t thinking about angles or lighting or how many likes this would get.
“There,” Maddox said quietly, his breath warm against my temple. “Perfect.”
I turned in his arms to show him the perfectly toasted marshmallow, suddenly aware of how close we were. His eyes had gone dark in the firelight, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me right there in front of half of Legacy’s population.
Instead, someone nearby called out, “Hey, lovebirds, you heating up marshmallows or each other?”
We stepped apart quickly, both of us flushing.
I cleared my throat and held up my golden marshmallow triumphantly. “Can’t we do both?”
The group around the fire erupted in laughter and good-natured whistles. Maddox rolled his eyes but was fighting a smile as he helped me assemble my s’more with graham crackers and chocolate.
We found a quieter spot on a bench slightly removed from the main crowd, close enough to feel the fire’s warmth but far enough away for something resembling privacy.
I put my phone away and just enjoyed the moment—the taste of perfectly melted chocolate and marshmallow, the sound of laughter and conversation around us, the solid presence of Maddox beside me.
“These things can be kind of a lot,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet. “Everyone watching everyone else’s business. But with you here, it’s… not bad.”
I looked at him in surprise. This was the first time he’d admitted to enjoying my company without immediately following it up with reasons why it was a terrible idea.
“Careful, Sullivan,” I said, keeping my tone light even as something warm bloomed in my chest. “You’re starting to sound like someone who likes me.”
“Maybe I do.” He met my eyes, and I saw something vulnerable there, something real. “Maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, shoulders touching, watching the fire pop and crackle. I wanted to say something meaningful, something that would capture how good this felt—this easy intimacy, this sense of belonging somewhere, with someone. But the words felt too big, too dangerous.
Instead, I bumped his shoulder gently with mine. “Thanks for helping me not burn down Legacy on my first fire safety assignment.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied, gesturing toward where Chief Kincaid was approaching with what looked like official paperwork. “Pretty sure you’re about to get a lecture on proper marshmallow technique.”
But Chief Kincaid just wanted to make sure I had everything I needed for my content, to thank me for promoting fire safety to my followers, and to apologize for snapping at me earlier.
He was professional and friendly, but I found myself comparing his straightforward charm to Maddox’s more complex appeal.
The chief was undeniably attractive, but he didn’t make my pulse race or my stomach flip the way Maddox did with just a glance.
The three of us moved back to the fire, slipping into professional mode long enough to film a few more clips with the chief about bonfire and backyard fire pit safety, indoor fireplace safety, and proper fire-extinguishing techniques.
After Kincaid thanked me and moved on to check on other guests, I noticed Maddox helping a little girl who’d panicked and dropped her skewer in the dirt when the logs on the fire popped and crackled.
He crouched down to her level, handed her a fresh marshmallow to try again, and stood beside her with his hand on the stick covering hers.
Without really thinking about it, I turned my camera back on.
“I know it looks scary,” Maddox said, patiently soothing the girl’s fears in a gentle voice that made something squeeze tight in my chest. “But we’ve got this. See? As long as we hold on tight and don’t let go.”
“The best lesson from tonight’s adventure,” I whispered softly, watching Maddox laugh at something the little girl said, his whole face transforming with genuine warmth. “Even when you’re scared, hold tight and don’t let go.”
I clicked off the recording immediately, my cheeks burning hotter than the bonfire. That definitely wouldn’t be going in the final edit, but I couldn’t bring myself to delete it either.
Some fires, I was learning, were worth the risk of getting burned.
#FireSafetyAndFlirtation #BonfireBanter #SmoreThanFriends #HeatingUp