Chapter 18
LONG FUSE (LIZ)
By the time we get back from Atlantique, the sky has gone pink and gold and the whole house smells like charcoal and lighter fluid. Everyone is in motion—food, blankets, coolers, the easy choreography of people who’ve done this before.
Adam spots us first and grins. “There they are. Thought you two got lost.”
Our hands are still linked.
“Got distracted,” Leo says easily.
Adam clocks our joined hands immediately, because of course he does.
“Fireworks start in an hour,” Nate calls.
Eden points toward the beach. “Grab a shower, then come celebrate.”
Leo looks at me. “You said you wouldn’t miss it.”
“I did say that.” My mouth curves. “Guess I’m committed now.”
“Good. Take the outdoor shower first. I’ll bring towels.”
My body starts making plans without consulting the rest of me.
The bonfire catches fast. Flames climb. Smoke threads through the salt air. Everyone settles in around it with drinks and blankets and the loose, familiar noise of a holiday night.
What I can’t ignore is Leo.
He spreads a blanket on the sand, far enough from the fire to see the water, close enough to feel its warmth. Then he sits and looks at me as if he has all the time in the world.
I hover at the edge of the blanket, fully aware this is a bad idea and already too far in to stop it. Then I sit down in front of him. My choice shocks me enough that I almost laugh.
Leo doesn’t move. The silence behind me feels deliberate. I glance over my shoulder. He answers with stillness.
So I shift back. One inch. Then another.
“Can I?” I mean it to sound playful. It scrapes on the way out.
His mouth twitches. He angles his knees to make space.
I slide back until my shoulders rest against his chest.
Every place I touch him registers at once. Leo inhales, controlled. His hands settle at my waist over the hoodie—light at first, then a fraction firmer when my body gives up pretending it doesn’t want this.
From a distance, we look exactly right. A couple on a blanket, waiting for fireworks. Under the surface, I’m coming apart by degrees.
“Comfortable?” Low. Almost amused.
“Very,” I manage, barely a whisper.
The sky deepens. The fire pops. Someone passes beers down the line. I take one and hold it like it gives my hands something innocent to do.
Minutes go by.
Leo’s knees stay warm at my hips. His chest stays even at my back. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t close in.
He leaves the next move with me.
The first firework goes up with a hiss and a scream. Gold blooms over the ocean. The crowd reacts as one organism—cheers, phones lifting, someone clapping hard enough to make it echo. Light washes over us, sharp and bright, then fades.
My hands drift down and rest on his forearms.
Across the fire, Eden clocks us. One eyebrow goes up. Adam notices too, because Adam is professionally committed to being a menace. Matthias looks once, then away. Filed.
Another firework blooms, red then blue then white. The sound thumps in my ribs. The light washes my eyes.
He turns his head slightly, and his mouth skims my hairline, more breath than touch.
“Want me to keep going?” he murmurs.
“Yes.” The word barely makes it past my throat.
“Good.” It sounds like he’s trying not to smile.
I shift my head back until the side of my face brushes his jaw. He draws air deeper, as if he’s reining himself in.
Then, because I have to make it worse, I tilt my chin and offer him my neck.
A low sound slips out of him—half warning, half want—before his mouth finds the spot just under my ear.
He pushes my hair to the side, a light, gentle caress that scatters goosebumps over my skin.
One kiss, placed exactly where it wrecks me.
Heat hits so fast I almost choke on my inhale.
“Is this what you like?” His voice is low. Before I can answer, his lips move again, lingering just long enough to make me feel chosen.
My fingers lock on his forearm.
He pauses.
I tip my head back a fraction more, offering the smallest “yes” I can manage without cracking open.
The sound he makes is all restraint. Then his mouth returns, deeper this time. Warmer. The edge of his teeth grazes once—no bite, just a promise. The firework crack above us rattles the air, and I barely register it.
I turn toward him. The movement is small and deliberate.
My mouth finds his. At first it’s only a graze, a taste. Warmth. Salt. A trace of beer. Devastating.
His hand firms at my waist, steadying me, and the kiss deepens. Not rushed, not greedy, but sure. He meets me and lets me set the pace. Our mouths part and our tongues brush once, and I lose track of our surroundings entirely.
When we pull apart, I face the fireworks again and pretend that kiss didn’t rearrange anything.
Leo’s hands stay at my waist, holding the place I finally allowed him to claim.
The fireworks keep going, bigger and louder over the water.
He doesn’t push, kissing me once more when the sky goes bright, then brushes his mouth to my temple. To the corner of my jaw when I tilt my head and give him permission again.
Each touch is measured. Each one ruins me a little more.
By the time the finale burns out, the beach is breaking apart around us—blankets shaken out, bottles gathered, voices drifting back toward the houses.
Leo doesn’t move right away. Neither do I.
Eden pauses beside us on her way past and looks from him to me. “Beautiful show.”
“Yeah,” I manage.
Leo stands and offers me his hand.
I take it.
We walk back with the crowd, bodies funneling toward the boardwalk stairs. Someone bumps my shoulder. A kid runs past with a sparkler.
Then a man coming the other way slows.
He’s older. Sun-weathered. The kind of face you’d see ringside in a place that doesn’t card at the door. His eyes catch on mine and hold for exactly one second too long.
“Lillian?”
His girlfriend tugs his arm and pulls him up the stairs before he can say anything else.
Leo’s hand tightens on mine. He felt the pause even if he didn’t hear the word.
“You good?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just the crowd.”
He doesn’t push. We keep walking.
We head back toward the house through smoke and salt and the last scraps of noise from the beach. This time I keep my hand at his waist under the hem of his hoodie, my fingers resting against bare skin.
He says nothing about it.
His silence does more damage than commentary would have.
Behind me, the bathroom door clicks shut. Water starts a second later.
I stand in the middle of the room, every nerve still lit. His T-shirt is draped over the chair. Navy. Soft. Worn.
I pick it up. It smells like cedar and soap and him.
I pull off my hoodie and slip his shirt over my head. The fabric falls to mid-thigh, familiar and foreign at once.
Then I grab the paperback from my bag—armor I won’t need but carry anyway—and lie down on the bed.
The water shuts off.
I’m still pretending I haven’t jumped off the cliff when the bathroom door opens.