Chapter Six | FLINT #3
Caprice nodded. “They’ll match it. Apparently, not burning down the mountain is excellent brand alignment.”
Sunny’s laugh broke first, shaky and bright. She pressed both hands to her mouth, then dropped them and looked at me.
“You tied me,” she said.
“You tied me.”
“I didn’t lose.”
“I didn’t lose either.”
Her eyes shone in the low sun. “You sound relieved.”
“I’m relieved.”
That was true.
It also wasn’t enough.
Caprice aimed her clipboard at us. “The sponsor wants a follow-up feature. Working concept: Sunny and Flint build a recurring Fire Mountain summer-night pop-up. Gourmet campfire food, old-school fire knowledge, safe setup, big scenery, no accidental dairy floods unless contractually necessary.”
“No dairy floods,” Sunny and I said together.
Ed lowered the camera just enough to look at us over it. “That sounded planned.”
“It wasn’t,” Sunny said.
“It should’ve been,” Caprice said. “That was usable.”
Joelle’s smile came small and satisfied. “So the collaboration is official?”
Sunny looked at me.
This was the point where a smarter man would say something careful and easy, maybe something about business, camera schedules, and prize money.
I’d spent most of my life respecting fire because the thing you didn’t say in time could get away from you.
I pulled the apron over my head and set it on my station.
“The pop-up matters,” I said. “The safety money matters. The feature matters too, if Sunny wants it.”
Caprice’s face sharpened. “Great. I’ll tell the sponsor—”
“I’m not finished.”
The whole crew went still.
Sunny’s throat moved.
I stepped around the tasting table, stopping close enough to reach her but not touching her yet, not with cameras up and not until she chose it where everyone could see.
“I was trying to win,” I said.
Sunny’s eyes held mine. “I figured.”
“Part of me was rooting for you too.”
“I figured that too.”
“I kept standing there with my hands in the food, trying to figure out how this ended without one of us walking away hurt.”
Her lips parted.
My voice roughened, but I kept going. “I couldn’t throw it. You’d have hated that.”
“I would’ve hated that so much.”
“I knew it.” I took one breath, then another. “I needed you to know I was competing against you, not choosing against you.”
Sunny stared at me for one long second.
Then she stepped into my space, cameras and crew and meadow and all, and put one hand flat against my chest.
“Flint,” she said, voice warm and steady, “I never needed you to lose for me to trust you.”
My hand closed over hers.
Caprice made a small, strangled sound.
Ed said, “I have focus.”
“Don’t ruin this,” Joelle whispered.
Sunny’s smile trembled at one corner. “I wanted to beat you.”
“I can tell.”
“I still kind of want to beat you.”
“I can tell that too.”
“But I want you more.”
The words hit me harder than any win could have.
I bent my head and kissed her.
It wasn’t the kiss I wanted to give her later. It was gentler than that, public and brief enough not to turn Caprice’s footage into a different category. But Sunny’s fingers curled into my shirt, and mine slid to her waist for one second before I let her go.
Caprice pressed one hand to her chest. “That is either the end of the competition arc or the beginning of the best sponsor renewal I’ve ever seen.”
Sunny turned her head but didn’t step away from me. “Caprice, please don’t monetize my feelings while I’m still having them.”
“I’m not monetizing them. I’m giving them deliverables.”
Ed sighed. “I’m putting that on a T-shirt.”
Joelle took the plates before a bug could land on them. “I’m calling this wrapped before anyone proposes to a biscuit.”
Sunny looked back at me, her hand still under mine. “Are we wrapped?”
I looked past her at the meadow, the cooling coals, the camera, the crew, the prize we hadn’t lost and hadn’t won alone.
Then I looked at Sunny.
“We’re not even close,” I said.
Her eyes went soft in a way that belonged nowhere near Ed’s camera.
Caprice clapped again, softer this time. “We’re wrapped for filming. Nobody move until I say the sponsor has what they need.”
“I need you to say it fast,” Sunny said.
Caprice looked at her, then at me, then at the hand still on my chest. “The sponsor has what they need.”
Ed dropped the camera from his shoulder. “Thank God.”
Joelle lifted the tasting plates. “I’ll pack the leftovers. You two should probably go somewhere that doesn’t have witnesses.”
Sunny’s cheeks flushed.
Ed pointed his fork at my plate. “If those biscuits stay behind, I’m eating them in a dark corner like a raccoon.”
“I heard you,” I said, taking the plate.
I took Sunny’s hand.
No one argued.
The walk back to my truck took longer than it should’ve because every step away from the cameras made the air feel thinner. Sunny carried her scarf in one hand, her curls loosening around her face. I carried the leftover biscuits.
We didn’t talk much on the drive up to my cabin.
The ridge road climbed through pines streaked with evening shadow. Dust rose behind the truck. The last sun caught the windshield, then disappeared behind Fire Mountain, leaving the sky orange at the edges and blue above the trees.
Sunny sat beside me with one knee turned toward the console, her hand resting close to mine but not touching it. Every few seconds, her fingers shifted as if she was stopping herself.
I finally reached across and took her hand.
She let out a breath.
“Are you still in for the pop-up?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m in.”
“The feature too?”
“If you do, yes.”
“And the public garnish arguments?”
“That depends on what you put it on.”
“I meant food, Flint.”
“I wanted clarification.”
She laughed, then went quiet again.
I tightened my fingers around hers. “And us?”
Sunny looked over.
The truck bumped over a rut, and her curls swung against her cheek.
“I’m in when you’re being noble. I’m in when you’re being impossible.
I’m in when you’re making biscuits with suspiciously good plating.
I’m in when you beat me, tie me, or stand there looking unfairly handsome while Caprice uses the word deliverables. ”
I swallowed hard.
“That’s a lot of Flint Sparks.”
“I’m a thorough woman.”
“I noticed.”
Her thumb moved over the back of my hand. “What about you?”
I pulled up in front of the cabin and cut the engine.
The porch stood in the last light, simple and rough and mine. The firepit was cold. The windows caught a faint reflection of the sky. I had one chair by the stove, one stack of firewood by the door, and hooks on the wall for one man’s gear.
Then Sunny sat beside me with flour on her cuff and smoke in her hair, and I wanted another chair, another hook, and space for her in every corner of the cabin.
“Every version I’ve seen,” I said. “The ones I haven’t met yet too.”
Sunny’s eyes filled, but she smiled like she was determined to make it a problem for both of us. “That was dangerously close to a line from a man who claims he isn’t marketable.”
“I’m not saying it for the camera.”
“I know.”
I got out and came around for her because I needed to move before I said too much through a truck console. She took my hand and stepped down into the dirt. Her boots hit the ground steady.
The sight of them did something strange to my chest.
Sunny caught me watching. “Please tell me you’re admiring the tread.”
“I’m admiring the woman standing in them.”
Her mouth softened.
Her hand tightened in mine.
I unlocked the cabin, pushed the door open, and let her go in first.
The room was dim and warm from the day’s heat.
The bed waited in the loft under the pitched roof.
The table still had two coffee mugs from morning, washed and turned upside down beside the sink.
My spare flannel hung over the back of the chair where Sunny had left it before going back to the meadow.
She saw it too.
Her fingers brushed the sleeve.
“I thought this place would feel different tonight,” she said.
“How?”
“I don’t know.” She looked around at the stove, the shelves, the fire tools by the wall, the boots by the door. “Less like I borrowed it.”
I set the biscuits on the counter. “You’re not borrowing anything.”
Sunny turned to me.
The cabin went quiet enough for the ridge insects to come through the screen.
I crossed the room and stopped in front of her. “I kept picturing you here last night. This morning too. Now you’re here.”
Her hands curled in my henley. “Say that again.”
“You belong here if you choose it.”
Her breath caught.
I covered her hands with mine. “When the cameras are gone and nobody’s paying us to bicker, I still choose this. I choose you covered in flour, mad about plating, and telling me my food needs garnish.”
“It does need garnish.”
“I’m prepared.”
She laughed, but the sound shook.
I lowered my forehead to hers. “I love you, Sunny.”
Her fingers tightened so hard in my shirt that the cotton pulled against my chest.
For one second, she didn’t speak.
I waited. That was the hardest thing I’d done all weekend. Harder than competing. Harder than not kissing her in front of the crew every time she smiled. Harder than standing beside her while Caprice read the final result.
Sunny lifted her face.
“You love me?” she asked.
“Yes, I love you.”
“You’re sure? Because I’m loud, and I overpack citrus, and I’m probably going to put a branded apron in this cabin.”
“I understand the risk.”
“I may name things that shouldn’t have names.”
“I assumed that risk too.”
“I’ll argue with you about smoke points.”
“You should.”
“I love you too,” she said, and the words came out quick, like she’d been holding them behind her teeth. “I love you, Flint. Even when you’re infuriating. Especially when you’re honest. Maybe not when you insult basil, but we’ll do counseling for that.”
I laughed against her mouth, and then I kissed her.
This time, there was no camera to respect, no crew, no score, and no prize money sitting between us like a question.