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She shrugs. “Thought you liked making fires.”

I narrow my eyes. “You planning on starting one?”

She meets my gaze, and something clicks in the air between us—like a match struck, waiting to be dropped.

“Maybe,” she murmurs. “If you’ve got the spark.”

Jesus.

I follow her outside. The cold bites, but it’s nothing compared to the heat building in my chest. We build it together—her handing me logs, me lighting the kindling. We move in sync. Like we’ve done this forever.

When the flames start to catch, she tucks herself into my side, both of us watching the fire like it might tell us something we don’t already know.

“Thanks for coming over,” she says.

“Thanks for calling.”

She glances up at me. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Joely,” I murmur, brushing a hair from her face. “I’d come for you every time.”

And I would.

God help me, I would.

Joely’s laugh cracks open something in me I didn’t know I’d been holding shut.

She tosses another log on the fire, her cheeks flushed from the heat and cold. The wind toys with her hair, and for a second, I swear I forget how to breathe. She looks over at me, and I know—I’m done.

This isn’t just lust.

It isn’t even just love.

This girl? She’s carved into my bones.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asks, pulling her hoodie tighter around herself like it’s going to save her from whatever’s in my eyes.

I shake my head, slow. “Because I’ve never seen anyone glow like you do.”

She snorts. “That’s the firelight.”

“No,” I say. “That’s you.”

The air shifts. She’s not smiling anymore. Her lips part just slightly, like she’s about to say something, but the words never come. I take a step toward her, close enough now that our breath mingles in little clouds between us.

“You okay?” she asks, voice soft.

“Not even close,” I whisper.

Then I kiss her.

It’s not the kind of kiss I can pull back from. It’s the kind that demands everything—my past, my future, all the in-betweens. And when her fingers tangle in the front of my coat, tugging me closer, I know I’m not the only one falling.

When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers.

“I’ve been thinking,” I murmur.

“That sounds dangerous,” she says, trying to make it light. But her voice shakes. Just a little.