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Joely’s face softens, and for a moment, she just lets the silence stretch between us—heavy, real, full of all the things I’ve never said out loud.

“So I’m a liability now?” she finally asks, arching a brow, but her voice isn’t angry—it’s wounded. I hate that more.

“No,” I say quickly. “You’re the one thing in my life that actually makes sense. I’m just asking for a beat. To figure my head out.”

She studies me, and for a second, I think I’ve totally botched it.

“Think of it like a pregnancy,” I blurt, then immediately cringe. “I mean—not like that. Just, you know, we make sure it’s gonna stick. First trimester. Then we tell people it’s official.”

Joely blinks. “So what, I’m your TRY-mester?”

I wince. “Okay, that sounded better in my head.”

She laughs, finally, and it loosens the tight band around my chest.

“I’m not great at this,” I admit. “But I know what I feel. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics.”

Joely eyes me for a long beat. Then she leans in, brushing her lips against mine so fast I almost miss it.

“You’ve got until Valentine’s Day,” she says, standing and walking toward the beer cooler. “Try-mester ends then, Foster.”

Fuck. I’m so gone for her.

I sit there like an idiot, watching Joely disappear into the firelight, her words echoing in my head.

Valentine’s Day.

She’s giving me a deadline, which is fair… I just didn’t expect her to hand it to me with a smirk and a kiss that short-circuited my brain. I’m supposed to be the one in control here—keeping it quiet, keeping things light. But she’s playing chess while I’m still fumbling with checkers.

Behind me, someone slaps my shoulder hard enough to jolt me back into my body. “You said trimester.” Shep says, grinning like he’s already written a song about it.

“Shut up, man.”

“Hard to do when the guy who just said he wants to keep things secret is standing there staring at her like she hung the damn moon.”

“Shep,” I growl, but there’s no heat in it.

He snorts. “Relax. I’m rooting for you, bro. Just… why all the secrecy? All of us knew even before you did.”

Easier said than done. I guess this thing with my career and my contract has me more wound up than I originally thought it did.

I head toward my brother, hands shoved in my pockets. Bennett’s sitting on a cooler, grumbling about the cheap beer and probably plotting a hostile takeover of the entire beverage industry. Joely’s perched on a log between Gage and Boone, laughing at something Boone’s saying, but I catch her glancing my way. Not overt. Just enough to make me feel it in my chest.

We’re still us… and somehow, not at all.

I sink onto the other side of the fire, the flames crackling between us like a live wire. I want to go over there. I want to pull her into my lap and tell every single person here that she’s mine. But I also want to keep this—whateverthisis—safe. Protected.Something that doesn’t get burned up by spotlight and pressure and bad timing.

Every few minutes, I catch myself half-rising out of my seat, ready to cross the flames and claim her. But I force myself to stay put, fingers dug into my jeans, heart thumping like the idiot it is.

“I’m thinking about making her a crispy hot dog next,” Shep announces, biting into a burnt marshmallow and spraying crumbs like a sprinkler. “I mean… it will be about one eighth the size of mine, but…”

I shoot him a look. “You thinking about dying today?”

“Just saying. You weren’t the only one who noticed her in that dress, buddy. And you’re botching it. And that’s kinda pissing me off.”

“Dude,” Gage chokes out, looking around. “We’re like, two comments away from getting roasted ourselves.”

“By Mom,” Bennett mutters. “And she’ll use a literal fire poker. Straight to the nut sack.”