Chapter Sixteen
Crew
Crew Donnelly had kissed Marin Webb once under fireworks and immediately learned the human heart was not built for subtlety.
His, apparently, had the emotional discipline of Wilder Knox near an unsupervised livestream.
Because one kiss should not have rearranged him.
One kiss should not have made the whole park go quiet even while fireworks cracked overhead and half of Honeybrook shouted at the sky.
One kiss should not have made Monday feel both closer and less powerful.
But Marin’s hand was still in his, her shoulder close to his, her laugh still tucked against the edge of his chest because Talia had apparently tackled Frankie for the sake of privacy.
And Crew was in trouble.
Not new trouble.
Not viral trouble.
The old kind.
The deep kind.
The kind with roots.
Marin pulled back from his shoulder, still laughing softly, and looked at the text again.
Talia: I tackled Frankie. You’re welcome.
Another message appeared.
Talia: Sutton assisted. Wilder gave tactical commentary and was ignored.
Marin shook her head.
“Your people are ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“My people are ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“I’m concerned about how much overlap there is now.”
Crew’s mouth curved.
“Me too.”
Her gaze lifted to his.
The fireworks lit her face in flashes. Red. Gold. Blue. Shadow. She looked happy and scared and annoyed about both.
He wanted to kiss her again.
Badly.
He did not.
That felt important.
She had chosen the first kiss.
He was not going to turn one brave choice into pressure.
So he stayed still, thumb resting lightly against her hand, waiting for her to decide if she wanted to keep holding on.
She did.
His chest went tight.
“Are you making it weird?” she asked.
“No.”
“You paused.”
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“Very.”
Her mouth twitched.
“What were you thinking?”
He looked at the sky because looking at her while answering felt like handing his heart a microphone.
“I was thinking I want to kiss you again.”
Marin went still beside him.
Good job, Donnelly.
Very subtle.
Crew forced himself to continue before she had to guess.
“And I was thinking I’m not going to unless you make it extremely clear that you want that.”
Her fingers shifted in his.
Not pulling away.
Not moving closer.
Just reacting.
The next firework burst white above the park.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Marin said, “Extremely clear?”
“Yes.”
“You need paperwork?”
“Given this week, maybe.”
Her laugh came out surprised.
Warm.
His favorite sound.
No.
Dangerous thought.
Still true.
“You are very annoying when respectful,” she said.
“I’m told growth is hideous.”
“That was Talia.”
“Yes.”
“She’s right too often.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Marin looked toward the Spitfires’ blanket colony.
Frankie was lying dramatically on her back while Sutton sat near her, apparently confiscating both binoculars and dignity.
Wilder was gesturing with a chip bag. Cooper looked like he regretted knowing everyone.
Hayes had somehow acquired glow sticks. Beck was eating popcorn with the expression of a man who had accepted chaos as weather.
Junie was handing tissues to Mrs. Paxton, who was crying at the fireworks, Tom, the roof, or possibly all three.
Tom sat in his chair near Mrs. Bell and Eddie, wrapped in Junie’s blanket despite the warm night, face tilted toward the sky.
He looked tired.
But peaceful.
Crew watched his father watching the fireworks and felt the day settle into him.
The roof had started.
The parade had happened.
Tom had been honored without being turned into a martyr.
Marin had stood beside him.
Marin had kissed Crew.
Crew had told his coach the truth.
He had a plan for Monday.
Not perfect.
Not easy.
But honest.
Marin’s hand tightened around his.
He looked at her.
“You okay?” he asked.
She sighed.
“I hate that question.”
“I know.”
“I’m supposed to ask it.”
“I can ask it too.”
“Healthy communication looks terrible on you.”
His mouth lifted.
“That wasn’t an answer.”
She looked at the sky.
The gold from the last firework faded into smoke.
“I’m okay right now,” she said.
Right now.
Crew nodded.
Right now mattered.
Right now was a hand in his.
Right now was fireworks and a blanket and the woman he loved giving him something she had every right to keep locked away.
“I’m okay right now too,” he said.
She looked back at him.
Something softened.
Not fully.
Enough.
“Good.”
Then her eyes narrowed.
“But don’t get smug. I said right now.”
“I heard.”
“And one kiss does not mean everything is fixed.”
“I know.”
“And Monday still exists.”
“Yes.”
“And you are still leaving for meetings.”
“Yes.”
“And I am still figuring out whether I trust you with anything larger than a water bottle and a public apology.”
“Fair.”
Her mouth pressed together.
“You’re doing the thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Being reasonable when I’m trying to build a case.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No.”
She laughed again.
Crew’s phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then again.
Marin looked at his pocket.
“Group chat?”
“Probably.”
“You can check.”
“I’d rather not.”
“You’re afraid.”
“Yes.”
“Coward.”
“Yes.”
Her smile was quick and wicked.
He wanted to kiss it.
Still did not.
She must have seen that thought on his face because her smile faded into something warmer.
Nervous.
Then she looked away.
“Check your phone before someone calls emergency services because Captain Problem failed to respond.”
Crew pulled out his phone.
He had six messages.
Not the group chat.
Wilder private text.
Wilder: FIRST: no one recorded. Sutton and Talia formed a defensive line. Frankie has grass in her hair and says it was worth it.
Wilder: SECOND: I am proud of you in a way that feels vulnerable and should maybe be deleted.
Wilder: THIRD: Tom looks good.
Wilder: FOURTH: If you need us to run interference after fireworks, say the word. Quiet interference.
Wilder: FIFTH: I am not saying anything about the kiss.
Wilder: SIXTH: I am saying nothing so loudly.
Crew stared at the phone.
Marin leaned over enough to read.
Her shoulder brushed his.
He forgot the entire English language for half a second.
Then she snorted.
“He is saying nothing very loudly.”
“Yes.”
She nodded toward the phone.
“Tell him thank you.”
Crew looked at her.
“For the defensive line?”
“For trying.”
Crew typed:
Crew: Marin says thank you.
Wilder replied instantly.
Wilder: TELL MARIN I WILL SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE MAKING UP FOR THE LIVESTREAM THING BUT IN A NON-INVASIVE WAY.
Crew showed Marin.
She stared at the message.
Then typed on Crew’s phone herself.
Marin: Start with lowercase letters.
Wilder replied:
Wilder: yes ma’am.
Then:
Wilder: sorry.
Marin handed the phone back.
“I feel powerful.”
“You are.”
“Don’t say that seriously.”
“I can’t make it untrue.”
She looked at him.
The air changed again.
Softness with teeth.
The fireworks paused.
The crowd murmured, waiting for the finale.
In the brief quiet, the whole park seemed to hold its breath.
Marin’s hand was still in his.
Her knee brushed his.
Their shoulders were almost touching.
Crew could hear laughter from the team behind them, Tom clearing his throat across the way, a child asking if the big ones were coming.
Marin whispered, “Crew.”
His body went still.
“Yeah?”
She looked at him.
Then at his mouth.
Then back to his eyes.
Extremely clear.
His heart kicked hard.
“Marin.”
“This is me being extremely clear,” she whispered.
The first finale firework launched.
The whistle rose.
Crew leaned in slowly enough that she could stop him with a breath.
She did not.
Their second kiss happened under the first burst of the finale.
Gold light.
Crowd cheering.
Marin’s hand tightening in his.
This kiss was still careful, but not as careful as the first.
It had more truth in it.
More wanting.
More old ache and new choice.
Crew’s hand lifted to her cheek again, then slid just enough to cradle the side of her face. Marin leaned into him, a tiny movement that nearly wrecked his restraint.
He kept the kiss soft.
Closed-door.
Public enough to remain brief.
Private enough to matter.
When he pulled back, her eyes stayed closed for one extra second.
Crew memorized that.
Then immediately told himself not to become poetic in public.
Marin opened her eyes.
“You made it a little weird,” she whispered.
His forehead almost touched hers.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No.”
The finale cracked open overhead, rapid bursts of red and blue and white that shook the ground. Marin flinched at the loudest boom.
Crew’s hand slipped from her cheek to cover her ear gently.
One ear only.
The other was pressed slightly toward his shoulder.
She blinked up at him.
He froze.
Too much?
But she did not pull away.
Instead, she shifted closer until her shoulder rested fully against his.
Oh.
Crew stared at the sky and tried to survive the fact that Marin Webb had just chosen his body as cover from fireworks.
The universe could have been gentler.
It declined.
The final firework burst huge and white over the park, raining sparks like stars.
The crowd erupted.
Marin’s hand stayed in his until the last echo faded.
Then she pulled away slowly.
Not like panic.
Like decision.
Crew let her.
Across the lawn, Tom was looking at them.
Of course.
Mrs. Bell was pretending not to.
Badly.
Tom lifted one hand and gave Crew a small salute.
Crew shook his head.
Marin saw.
Her cheeks flushed.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“Your dad saw.”
“Yes.”
“Does everyone know?”
“No.”
“Crew.”
“No one recorded.”
“That is not the same answer.”
He glanced behind them.
The Spitfires instantly looked in every direction except at Crew and Marin.
Frankie was lying facedown now.
Sutton had one hand on her back like she was holding down a dramatic animal.
Wilder gave Crew two thumbs-up, then seemed to remember privacy and shoved both hands behind his back.
Cooper dragged him backward by the hoodie.
Marin covered her face.
“I hate all of you.”
Crew leaned closer, voice low.
“You kissed me.”
Her hands dropped.
“I did.”
“Twice.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Counting is dangerous.”
“I liked counting.”
“Also dangerous.”
“Very.”
Her mouth twitched.