Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
A s Beth drew her sweater tighter around her shoulders, the cool night air brushed against her skin. She cautiously glanced behind her, making sure she was alone, before following the lantern-lit path towards the campfire circles.
She had always felt safe on the camp since they legally kept Ian from the grounds. Still, with his recent attempts, she was cautious.
These fire pits were used at least five times a week. Twice a week there was a major event with chocolate fountains and champagne. Tonight was one of those nights.
Live music by Ronny and his guitar was playing softly in front of one fire. Guests enjoyed the s’mores, the drinks, and the company of others.
The smell of wood smoke and toasted marshmallows drifted through the warm evening air, mixing with the low hum of conversation, music, and laughter. All of this warmed her.
She wasn’t technically scheduled to work the event. Her instinct had been to go straight home, lock the doors, and curl up with a book, but just knowing that Aaron was going to be here changed her mind.
Now, as she stepped into the ring of Adirondack chairs and picnic benches, the firelight painted everyone in soft gold and orange.
Guests lounged with drinks in hand, swapping stories about the day’s activities.
The lazy chords from Ronny’s guitar rolled out over the group and gave the whole scene an easy, laid-back rhythm.
She slipped onto the edge of a bench, her gaze drifting across the flames.
The fire’s heat was welcome, but the laughter and closeness of the circle pressed at her nerves.
She had always loved the idea of campfires—the camaraderie, the freedom—but she’d never actually felt comfortable being at the center of them.
“Glad you made it.”
Her heart gave a jump at the deep voice. Aaron stood behind her, casual in jeans and a sweatshirt, his hands shoved into his pockets, like he belonged here more than anyone else.
His grin curved slowly, warm and steady. “You look like you could use some marshmallows. Want me to make you a couple s’mores?”
She blinked at him. The absurdity of this big, capable man offering her marshmallows nearly made her laugh. “How are your s’more making skills?”
He leaned closer to her until he was just a breath away. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, his voice dropping conspiratorially, “but I’m probably the best at the camp. Secret skill. One of my many hidden talents.”
The corner of her mouth tugged despite herself. He made it too easy sometimes, slipping past her defenses before she realized what was happening.
“I hear you also play the guitar?”
He nodded but glanced around. “Yeah, but don’t say that too loudly. Ronny will hand it over.”
He nodded towards the group across the fire, where two guests were dramatically failing at roasting marshmallows. “Amateurs. Charcoal on a stick.”
Beth laughed before she could stop herself, the sound slipping out softer, freer than she intended. “And you think you could do better?”
“Easily.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice low. “Perfectly golden brown, every time. No blackened blobs.”
She arched a brow, meeting his eyes in the flickering light. “That’s a bold claim.”
His lips curved, that slow grin that seemed to undo her nerves one thread at a time. “Want me to prove it?”
Before she could answer, someone passed a bag of marshmallows and skewers down the circle.
Aaron snagged one without hesitation, speared some marshmallows with practiced ease, and set to work.
He turned the skewer carefully over the fire, patient, unhurried, as if this small task was as important as any.
Beth found herself watching him instead of the flames, the steady way he moved, the quiet focus in his profile, the hint of amusement tugging at his mouth.
When he finally pulled the marshmallows back, they were, maddeningly, perfectly golden. Then he turned his back on her and got to work putting the s’more together.
“There,” he said. When Aaron was done, he handed her a plate with two massive s’mores on it and then grabbed a glass of champagne and set it beside her.
She was impressed. The s’mores looked like a work of art.
So much so that she pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures before biting into them.
“Okay,” she admitted softly, “I’m impressed.” He wasn’t lying. They were the best things she’d ever had. The sweetness melted instantly against her tongue. “How did you learn to do this?” she asked between bites.
Aaron’s eyes caught the firelight, heat sparking in their depths. “I told you. Secret skill.” Aaron leaned back beside her, his long legs stretching out towards the fire, and shrugged lightly. “I was in Boy Scouts.”
“That doesn’t explain this.” She motioned with the s’more.
He smiled. “I spent a lot of nights sitting around a fire with my folks.”
She tilted her head. “They passed away in a crash?” she asked, remembering overhearing someone talk about it.
“Plane crash when I was twenty.” He nodded. “You lost your dad?”
She nodded back and took a sip of the champagne to sooth the fire that came with the memories.
Beth’s pulse skipped, her mouth suddenly too dry. She looked back at the flames quickly, trying to ignore the pain and how close he was, how much she wanted to lean just a little nearer.
As the guitar music shifted into a rowdy singalong, Beth let herself lean back a little.
She shouldn’t feel safer just because he was here. She shouldn’t want to.
But she did.
Even with the laughter and music swirling around them, she felt her awareness narrow to the space between them. His arm brushed against hers, casual, but it sent a flicker of warmth up her sleeve that had nothing to do with the flames.
Around them, guests laughed and sang, the guitar growing louder, a second voice joining in with a harmony that made everyone cheer. It was the kind of night that should feel carefree. For once, Beth let herself lean into it.
She had just polished off the last bite of her s’more when Ronny set his guitar aside to grab another drink. Someone across the circle shouted for him to keep playing, but Ronny only waved them off.
And then, exactly like Aaron had warned, Ronny’s gaze landed on him.
“Hey, why don’t you take over for a song?” he called, already motioning with the guitar.
Beth turned her head, catching the look Aaron shot back, half amused, half exasperated. “Told you this would happen,” he murmured under his breath before standing to take the guitar.
Her pulse picked up as he walked towards Ronny, the firelight catching in his hair and shadowing the strong line of his jaw.
He accepted the guitar with the kind of ease that made it clear this wasn’t the first time he’d held one.
When he settled back next to her, the campfire circle hushed a little, expectant.
Aaron strummed once, twice, testing the strings and the cords, then let his fingers fall into a gentle rhythm. The soft, rolling chords silenced the last bits of chatter. His voice followed, low, rich, and steady, carrying a quiet warmth that slid into Beth’s chest before she could brace herself.
The song was old, one she half-recognized, a ballad that spoke of love not lost but longed for, of finding safety in another person’s arms. It wasn’t flashy, no soaring notes or showmanship. Just simple, honest, and impossibly intimate, like he was singing to one person instead of twenty.
Beth.
Her throat tightened. Around her, the other guests swayed softly, couples leaning into each other, eyes closed, letting the music wash over them.
But Beth couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
She could only watch Aaron’s fingers glide over the strings, his expression relaxed but intent, his voice pulling something from inside her she hadn’t let herself feel in years.
When the last note faded, the circle erupted into applause and cheers. After that, he played another softer song but didn’t sing along. She had a feeling it was something original.
It was beautiful. Sad, somehow.
When he was done, Ronny walked over and clapped him on the shoulder, and Aaron handed over the guitar.
“Thanks for filling in again, man.” Ronny winked and then moved off to start playing again. Beth barely noticed the new music. Her hands were clasped tight in her lap, her heart hammering a little harder.
She wanted to ask him about the song, but she was almost frozen.
Aaron glanced over at her.
“So,” he said, tossing a small twig into the flames, “now that you’ve heard me play guitar, I don’t want you to think I’m a one-trick pony. I make a mean smoked brisket, too. That’s practically a talent.”
She relaxed almost instantly as her lips curved up. “That sounds suspiciously like bragging.”
“Only because it’s true,” he said with a grin. “Your turn. What’s your hidden talent?”
She hesitated, pulling the edge of her sweater tighter around her. It wasn’t often people asked her about herself without strings attached, and the words felt oddly heavy on her tongue. Finally, she answered with the first thing that came to mind, “Numbers.”
Aaron cocked his head, clearly intrigued. “Numbers?”
“Mm-hmm. I can look at a spreadsheet once and remember almost every figure. Percentages, budgets, totals… it just sticks. I’ve always been like that.
My dad swore that I would someday go into accounting, but at the time I thought that sounded…
boring.” She gave a small shrug. “Turns out, being the one who can untangle a camp’s budget has its perks. ”
“Beth, the human calculator,” Aaron teased, and the easy way he said it made her smile linger.
“It’s not very glamorous compared to playing guitar around a fire, or making the best s’mores and brisket,” she added. “People don’t usually gather around and cheer when someone balances a checkbook.”