Page 110 of Banter & Blushes #1

REID

I ’ve seen a lot of sunrises in my life. From behind the windshield of my truck, through the windows of my office, even once from a freezing tent on a weekend hike I regretted instantly. But nothing—and I mean nothing—compared to the way the sun rose this morning.

Not just because of the lava glowing beneath our feet or the ocean stretching out like a mirror.

But because of her.

Briella leaned into me, her head brushing my shoulder, her face lit by gold and pink light. And for one moment, it felt like we were something more. Like the world had stilled just long enough for me to imagine a life I’ve never quite let myself hope for.

But then the light got too bright, and we stood. Kept hiking. Pretended nothing had shifted.

Except everything has, at least for me.

After the hike, we head to Volcano House for breakfast, our shoes dusted in ash and our clothes still warm from the rising sun.

The restaurant sits right on the rim of the crater, floor-to-ceiling windows giving a front-row view of the ocean below. From our table, we can see the soft glow of lava pulsing where it reaches the edge of the ocean, a curl of steam rises into the air.

Briella presses her hand to the glass. “This doesn’t feel real.”

“It doesn’t look real,” I say, grabbing a plate and following her toward the buffet. “It’s like eating brunch on Mars.”

She laughs, her voice still hushed with wonder. “But, like . . . a delicious Mars.”

The buffet is everything a post-volcano hike deserves—piles of golden pancakes, crispy bacon, omelets made to order, and a tray of freshly sliced pineapple.

Briella loads up her plate with pineapple and pancakes and adds a cinnamon pastry for good measure. I’m not even pretending to make healthy choices. I grab three pancakes, a scoop of scrambled eggs, and double bacon.

Back at the table, she cuts into her pancake and hums after the first bite, doing a little happy dance. “Okay, this is magic. Like, actually. They might put lava in the batter.”

I raise a brow. “Molten flapjacks? Sounds dangerous.”

“Worth it,” she says, nudging me with her foot under the table.

She doesn’t pull it away right away.

My heart does that thing it’s been doing all morning—fluttering somewhere between don’t ruin this and take the risk already.

“So,” I say, spearing a piece of pineapple. “Do you think you could live somewhere like this?”

She tilts her head, thinking. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s paradise. But I think part of what makes it so special is that it’s not everyday life, you know?”

“You don’t think you’d get used to morning lava views and perfect weather?”

She laughs. “I think I’d start taking it for granted.”

I nod slowly. “That’s fair. I think I just want to bottle this up and keep it.”

She looks at me. “Me too.”

For a moment, we just sit in the glow of it all. The lava, the morning light, the fullness that has nothing to do with breakfast.

Then she leans back, wiping her hands with her napkin. “Okay. I’m officially fueled up. Want to chase a waterfall?”

“Always,” I say, standing to grab our brochure from the corner of the table. “Rainbow Falls, here we come.”

The drive up the coast is quiet. She plays music from her phone—a mix of indie pop and soft acoustic stuff that sounds exactly like her—and I let the scenery pass in silence, stealing glances at her when I think she’s not looking.

Rainbow Falls looks like a picture from a novel.

The water pours over a wide cliff and crashes into a deep pool below.

Thick green vines trail over the rocks, and a tangle of banyan roots curves like sculpture in the background.

We take photos. Walk the path. Read the legend about Maui and his mother and how the falls w ere named.

She takes it all in like she wants to remember every second. And so do I.

“Want to see what other trails we can find?” I ask after we’ve soaked up the falls.

She nods. “How could I say no to that?”

We find a smaller trail nearby that winds toward another pool. It’s only a two-mile loop, the sign says. Easy. We hike in comfortable silence, the sun filtering through thick branches above us. The air smells like wet earth and flowers. Somewhere ahead, I can hear water moving.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

She glances sideways. “Just how beautiful it is here. And how I don’t want to forget any of this.”

I want to tell her I won’t let her. That I’ll remember it for both of us.

But instead, I just say, “Me either.”

The path dips suddenly, turning muddy beneath our feet. I’m about to warn her when I hear the yelp.

I spin around just in time to see her feet slip out from under her. She lands in a patch of reddish-brown clay, arms flailing, a shriek of surprise turning into laughter.

“Whoa—”

I hurry back to her. “You okay?”

She blinks up at me from the mud, then breaks into a full-body laugh. “Oh my gosh. I look like a swamp creature.”

I laugh too. “You’re not wrong.” I reach out a hand to help her up, but I’m laughing too hard to brace myself and end up slipping down beside her.

We’re both a mess now, covered in mud and grinning like idiots.

“Please tell me you’re not filming this,” she gasps.

“Sadly, no. But I’m committing it to memory so I can tell this story at your wedding someday.”

She pauses, her smile softening. “Only if I get to do the same at yours.”

Something passes between us.

Then she throws a handful of mud at my arm. “You’re never living this down, by the way.”

We rinse off in the swimming hole, the water cool and crystal clear. Briella lets out a happy sigh as she dips beneath the surface, her hair fanning around her like a scene from a mermaid movie. When she pops back up, she splashes me. I dodge the first, but the second hits me square in the face.

I charge forward and dunk her gently, her squeal echoing through the trees.

When she comes up, breathless and laughing, she splashes me again, and we chase each other through the shallows like a pair of kids at summer camp.

She slips once, and I catch her by the wrist. For a second, we’re frozen like that—her hand in mine, her chest rising and falling with laughter.

I could kiss her right now.

I want to.

But instead, I let go .

Because if I kiss her now—and she doesn’t kiss me back—this whole perfect day could disappear.

And I’m not ready for it to end.