Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
KRISTA
Thursday, One Day Before the Summer Swap
The fire crackled low in the pit, sparks drifting into the warm night air.
The Crafting Club had all packed up and left, and the Hideaway was closed for the evening.
All was still except for the sound of the boats brushing against the dock and the occasional hoot of an owl.
Krista curled her bare toes beneath her on the outdoor sofa, a blanket draped over her lap.
Two mostly empty bowls of ramen noodles sat on the table before them.
The noodles were Krista’s go-to meal after working a long shift.
“You just keep a stash of these here?” Joe had asked, opening his seasoning packet and mixing it in the boiling water while Krista added an obscene amount of red chili flakes to hers.
“I’d eat these every night if it wasn’t for Kit,” Krista had replied. “It’s not that I don’t like cooking,” she had quickly clarified, “I just rarely have the time.”
“Well, if you’re feeling adventurous, I have pots and pans and a few canned goods at the campground.”
“Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” Krista had replied even if she couldn’t quite picture herself cooking over an open flame without burning the tent down.
They spent the rest of their meal slurping noodles and chatting like old friends who had been apart for too long.
Krista told Joe how much she loved spending time with Zoe, Cassidy, and the rest of the crew when it wasn’t summer.
How they had a Crafting Club and game nights with plenty of wine and cheese and chocolate.
Talking about it had made Krista long for the slower days of fall and winter, which felt ridiculous because she loved summer. She just hated being so busy.
Now, Joe sat opposite, a cocktail shaker in one hand and a grin tugging at his mouth.
“Alright,” he said, pouring the pale pink liquid into two glasses, “I call this one the Hot Honey Summer. Equal parts strawberry syrup, honey whiskey, and lime juice. May or may not set your mouth on fire.”
Krista accepted her glass, the drink fizzing faintly. “You do realize this is the fifth experiment tonight, right?”
“Scientific progress takes commitment,” Joe said solemnly.
She laughed, clinking her glass against his. “To science.”
The drink was sweet and smoky. Warm looseness spread through her limbs as moonlight pooled across the dock, silvering the lake.
Firelight flickered across Joe’s face, catching in his dark eyes, turning them almost amber.
He looked…content. And that was saying something for a man who claimed he never stayed long enough to get comfortable.
“You know, your experiments so far taste far better than mine,” Krista said, recalling the time she mixed peach schnapps with too much tequila and it ended up tasting like fruity gasoline. That was a big nope even when she added lots of ice.
“I don’t know. That Hot Honey Margarita is pretty phenomenal.”
Krista’s mouth curved. “You’re right. It is. And if you’re going to be running the Hideaway, you’re going to have to know how to make it.”
“More teacher role play, is it?” Joe quipped.
“Maybe. Do you promise to be a good student?” Krista was already standing, walking over to the bar area, barefoot, getting her supplies. She came back with a cutting board, ice, limes, a jar of hot honey, a bottle of tequila, and orange liqueur.
Joe’s smile widened as she lined everything up. “I’m liking the look of this lesson so far.”
She grabbed two glasses and tipped them to show him the rims. “First rule? Foreplay matters.”
Joe watched her hands. “You’ve got my attention.”
“You want to wet the rim.” She dampened the edge of one glass with a lime wedge. “Then get it ready for the main event.” She slid it through a shallow dish of salt and a pinch of chili-lime seasoning.
Joe watched her hands, studying her every move.
“Then comes the tequila, two ounces. No free pouring here.”
“Details matter,” Joe said, nodding in approval.
“Then we add one ounce of the orange liqueur and fresh squeezed lime juice. None of the bottled stuff.”
Krista squeezed the lime, the citrus scent bright and sharp in the warm air. “Now the important part.”
She dipped a spoon into the jar of hot honey and held it up. Gold caught the firelight, slow and glossy.
Joe’s gaze tracked the honey like it was hypnotizing him. “How much?”
“Half an ounce.” Krista let it ribbon into the shaker, thick and lazy. “Enough to taste it. Not so much it turns into syrup.”
She then added the ice, capped the shaker off, and handed it to Joe.
“Don’t be gentle. You want it cold.”
Joe shook as instructed, muscles in his forearms flexing with the rhythm. The movement did unfair things to her focus. She swallowed.
“Okay,” she said briskly. “Now we strain it in a glass.”
Joe poured the drinks into two glasses while Krista topped them off with a lime wedge. “Moment of truth.”
They picked up their glasses, “cheersed” one another, and took that first sip.
She tasted that sweet honey first, then lime, then that gentle burn that warmed her chest. It was perfect.
She made a satisfied sound.
Joe’s grin turned smug. “That good?”
Krista lowered the glass, eyes narrowing. “Don’t get cocky.”
Joe leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Let me taste yours.”
He reached for her glass, but Krista lifted it out of reach. “Uh-uh.”
“Come on. Have a little bit of fun…”
Joe reached for her hand, turning her palm up with an ease that made her pause under his touch. He took the lime wedge, wetting her wrist, then followed with a line of salt.
He looked up at her from under his lashes. “Taste test,” he said, like it was all business.
Then he leaned in and dragged his tongue along her wrist. It was slow and warm, with just enough pressure to send her imagination into overdrive.
Krista sucked in a breath she couldn’t control.
Joe’s mouth curved against her skin. “Mmm. Approved.”
Heat rolled low and sharp through her as Joe’s hand slid to her hip.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you have quite the habit of making me forget what I’m supposed to be doing.”
Her lips curved. “And what are you supposed to be doing here, Joe? ”
“Keeping things simple, not getting attached,” he murmured, low and rough.
She turned to face him, knees brushing his leg. “Simple’s overrated.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You’re probably right.”
The space between them thickened, heat curling like smoke. She walked him back until his calves hit the back of the outdoor couch. He sat, pulling Krista down with him. She readily straddled his thighs. His hands rested on her hips, steady, strong. For a long, suspended beat, neither of them moved.
“This isn’t…” she started, breath catching. “I mean, you’re not?—”
“Staying,” he finished. “Yeah. I know. I’ll be gone in a week.”
“And I’m not looking for anything. No time for romance.”
“Then we understand each other.” He smiled faintly, his thumb tracing slow circles along her waist.
She leaned in, teasing words on her tongue, before kissing him. Slow, hungry.
“Is this better than the supply closet?” she whispered.
“That depends,” he said, hand sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, warm against her back. “You gonna let me take my time?”
Her answer was her mouth on his.
The kiss deepened, firelight and moonlight dancing across them. His hands anchored her as the world fell away. She could taste the honey from their drinks, the smoke from the fire, the spark that had been building for days.
Her fingers slid along his stomach, feeling the hard lines of muscle. His hands moved too—one curling around her thigh, the other rising, slowly, until his thumb traced the edge of her cutoffs where denim met skin. Just that single stroke sent a shiver racing through her .
Her breath caught as his fingers teased along the hem, inching upward like he was mapping every part of her, memorizing it. She rolled her hips into him, feeling the thick, hard line of him through his jeans.
It should’ve been too much, too soon, but nothing about it felt wrong. If anything, it felt like the most right thing in the world.
He held her there, and she knew that if she let herself fall just a little more, he’d catch her. She shifted above him, her breath shallow now, her body attuned to every inch of his. Joe’s eyes stayed locked on hers as his fingers slid just beneath the denim, under the edge of her panties.
She gasped—just softly—and his breath hitched in response.
His fingers teased the lace. It was just a whisper of a touch, but it sent a bolt of heat spiraling through her.
He paused, his thumb circling, coaxing another breathy moan from her.
She arched into him, her hands clutching his shoulders like he was the only solid thing in the world.
“Krista,” he breathed, his voice thick. “You feel so—God, you feel so good.”
Her breath stuttered. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.” His thumb circled again, slower this time. “Not unless you tell me to.”
But she didn’t. God, she wouldn’t.
Instead, she leaned down and kissed him, tasting him like she was starved for it. Her hips rocked against his hand, chasing the friction, needing more of him. His fingers found her again, slipping past the lace to stroke her, slick and soft and utterly undone for him.
She whimpered into his mouth, her body trembling. Her whole body moved with his touch, grinding down against the steady rhythm of his fingers, the heat pooling low in her belly.
And in the back of her mind—somewhere between sensation and surrender—one thought surfaced, bright and sure: There is nothing better than letting this man make love to me under the stars.
It was utterly blissful, until the world barged in.
“Hey, Krista, you back here?” Kit’s voice rang out. “Thought we could talk about Taco Tuesday. I know it’s not for like, another eleven days or whatever, but—” She stopped dead in her tracks.
Krista jolted upright, nearly tumbling off the couch.
Joe exhaled a low curse, running a hand through his hair as he sat back.
“Sorry!” Kit shouted again, footsteps already retreating. “I didn’t see anything! I’m blind! Totally blind! Carry on. Or don’t. Oh my God.”
Krista buried her face against Joe’s shoulder, half laughing, half mortified. Her skin still buzzed, her heart still racing. When she finally looked up, his dark eyes met hers. The moment was broken. But the truth was there, undeniable.
She’d never wanted anyone the way she wanted him. He felt the same way.
And even though he was leaving soon, even though she knew better than to fall for him…
It looked like he was falling too.