13. Reid
THIRTEEN
REID
Boxes thumped against my thigh as I shifted the stack, sweat sliding down my spine beneath the weight of too much sun and too little shade.
Folding tables leaned like drunks against each other across the lawn, streamers tangled like someone had lost a fight with a patriotic octopus, and Mrs. Evans, chairperson of the Fourth of July organizing committee, wielded her clipboard like it came with arrest powers.
“Careful with those,” she called, pointing with her pen. “Those go by the main tent. Not near the dunk tank.”
“Didn’t know we had a dunk tank,” I muttered.
Gemma, stationed by a folding table loaded with Tupperware. “For the kids,” she said. “But if you ask nicely, I’m sure someone’ll volunteer you.”
That earned her a grunt, half amusement, half don’t-push-me. She offered a cinnamon bun the size of my palm. I politely declined. Figured I hadn’t done enough to earn it. Perhaps by the seventh or eighth box.
Beside the main tent, Sage knelt next to a crate of folding chairs, sleeves rolled, cap backwards, grinning like a kid up to something. “You volunteering or brooding, Daddy Reid?”
My shoulders tensed before I could stop them. “Sage, I’m warning you?—”
“Aw, come on,” Sage said, interrupting me in mid-sentence, lifting a chair one-handed. “Just trying to keep things festive.”
Festive. Right. Sure.
Couple years ago, Sage told me people used that name behind my back—Daddy Reid.
Said it with a gleam in his eye, like he might’ve made it up on the spot or heard it from someone drunk at Eddie’s Bar they ran on implication, gossip served hot with pie on the side.
Before I could offer anything polite enough to move her along, Officer Lane Carter strolled by, sunglasses crooked, badge gleaming.
“Y’all keeping these fireworks legal, right?
” he called, flashing a grin that probably made him insufferable at barbecues.
“No black-market rockets packed in those boxes?”
“Only illegal thing here’s that shirt,” Sage shot back without missing a beat.
Lane barked a laugh. “Good one, Jackson.” He gave Sage a salute before ambling off, probably in search of someone else to bother—or maybe free pastries.
“Sage,” Mayor Price called sweetly, “why don’t you help Mr. Webster with the canopies? He’s not as young as he used to be, but he hasn’t gotten the memo. I don’t want him breaking the other hip.”
Sage shot me a look that said he’d rather break a hip, but he dropped the chair he was about to unfold anyway and headed off like a man heading to his own execution. “Can’t even be a menace in peace,” he grumbled under his breath as he passed me.
Everything happening today was familiar because this time of year had been this way even before I was born, and yet every inch of me felt off-balance, like I was carrying too much weight somewhere no one could see.
Cael slid into view like he’d been waiting for a gap. “Reid,” he greeted.
“Hey, what’s up?” I said as we bumped fists.
“Not much.” The man had a mischievous grin on his face. “Finally crawled out of that firehouse to do some community service, huh?”
I rolled my eyes. Cael knew that every year I pitched in for the Fourth of July holiday. I was part of the community, so I would be remiss to not lend my support to anything that I could to encourage community spirit.
But before I could call him out on what he said, movement caught my eye, and just like that, I forgot the sun, the sweat, Cael, everything.
Ari.
He wore a loose tank, paint smudged on his cheek, curls damp like he’d been at it for hours—sweaty, focused, and completely unaware of the attention he drew.
He was bent over a sketch taped to a folding table, His lip caught between his teeth in concentration, making it way too easy to imagine what else that mouth could do, or what I could do with him bent over like that.
Something low and hot unspooled in my gut. A punch of want, like my body got the message before my brain did.
Cael whistled low. “You’re about as subtle as a damn marching band. Might want to work on that.”
I could’ve responded. Chose oxygen instead. Breathed deep.
Ari glanced up—and it hit like it always did. Warm, bright. It was like looking at something beautiful you weren’t supposed to touch.
Like hell that was stopping me.
“Back in a sec,” I muttered.
Cael didn’t bother hiding his wicked grin. “Atta boy.”
By the time I was a few feet from him, Ari straightened, stretching like a cat who’d been pretending to nap but was waiting for a reason to pounce. His lips curled like he had some clever little barb locked and loaded just for me.
“Volunteer labor from the fire department?” he asked, voice light.
Ari’s grin was pure trouble before I even reached him. “If this is you offering artistic input,” he said, tapping the side of the sketch with his knuckle, “I’m afraid I’m fully loaded with creative genius today.”
Smart little shit.
I stepped closer, close enough to smell whatever soap he used, something faint and clean beneath the sharper scent of acrylic paint. “Actually, Mrs. Evans wants this taped up better. One gust of wind and the whole thing’s folding like a cheap lawn chair.”
“Scandalous.” His fingers hovered by mine as I reached for the edge of the canvas banner, his thumb brushing my knuckles like he wasn’t even thinking about it—but I knew better. Ari thought about everything he did.
The canvas shifted under my grip. I peeled the corner up carefully, but the roll of tape had other plans—springing loose, snapping back against my hand like it had something personal against me. Paint streaked my palm.
“You had one job,” Ari drawled, gaze sliding to my fingers.
Then his thumb skimmed across the smear, slow and deliberate—like he was being helpful, but there was nothing innocent about the curl of his mouth.
“I could wash that off for you,” he added, voice dropping just enough to make my pulse kick, “but I don’t think you’d keep still long enough.”
He gave me a wink, like he hadn’t just set off a five-alarm fire in my bloodstream.
Heat burned below my waist, a throb I knew too well.
This bratty boy gets me so hard.
“Behave,” I warned under my breath, voice tight. “People are watching.”
Ari’s lashes lifted, innocent as hell. “That’s half the fun.”
Christ.
I pressed the edge of the tape hard against the canvas, hoping the bite in my palm would ground me.
It didn’t.
There was a crash behind us—metal slamming hard against pavement.
I turned just in time to see a dolly stacked too high with folding chairs tip sideways. One chair slipped loose, skidding fast, headed straight for Ari’s legs.
Instinct took over.
I reached out, caught him around the waist, and pulled him flush against me as the chair clanged across the pavement, missing us by inches.
“Jesus,” he breathed, hands braced on my chest. “That thing almost took me out.”
“You good?”
He nodded, still breathless.
My arm stayed around him.
Too long.
I should’ve let go.
But he was warm and solid against me, heart racing beneath my hand. His curls brushed my jaw when he looked up, eyes wide, mouth soft. And he didn’t move away. Just... stayed there.
Like he belonged.
God, I wanted to keep him right there. Hold him. Take him home. Teach him what it meant to be a good boy .
Behind us, the volunteer who’d been steering the dolly muttered a curse and scrambled to right it, chairs clattering as he tried to restack them. He didn’t even glance our way, too busy with the mess he’d made.
I pulled my arms away from Ari’s waist before I could forget how and took a step back.
He didn’t move right away. Just blinked up at me, cheeks flushed, lips parted like he wanted to say something—something real.
Instead, he gave a breathless laugh. “Guess I’m lucky you were nearby.” His voice was a little rougher than usual. Then came the teasing twist to his mouth. “Very heroic. Should I swoon now, or...?”
I didn’t get the chance to answer.
“Reid! Ari!” Mrs. Evans’ voice rang out from the next booth. “Don’t you two look adorable—stand still, I need a picture for the newsletter!”
Hell.
Ari didn’t miss a beat. He hooked an arm around my waist, hand landing right at my hip like he’d been there a hundred times before.
“Smile,” he said sweetly. “Be a good example, Reid.”