Page 5

rowan

I spot Cilla examining peaches at Murphy's Market like ancient artifacts that might reveal their secrets if she stares hard enough. Her forehead crinkles in concentration, and I swear it's the cutest damn thing I've seen all week.

"You know," I say, leaning against the produce display, "they're just peaches, not the Dead Sea Scrolls."

She looks up, those blue eyes flashing with amusement despite her attempt to appear annoyed. "These aren't 'just peaches,' Rowan. These are potential disappointments masquerading as fruit. Too hard now, mush tomorrow."

I chuckle, reaching past her to grab a bag of chips. "The Cedar Beach bonfire isn't exactly a formal dinner. We're talking snacks, beer, maybe some wine..."

"Wine," she says decisively. "Definitely wine."

Thirty minutes later, our cart contained an impressive array of cheese, crackers, suspicious peaches, and two bottles of wine that cost more than I'd typically spend. But Cilla insisted they were "appropriate for stargazing." I'm not about to argue with the professor.

"You realize we're going to a community bonfire, not hosting a gallery opening, right?" I tease as we load the bags into my truck.

"Just because it's casual doesn't mean it can't be civilized," she retorts, but a smile plays at the corners of her mouth.

The drive to Cedar Beach is quick, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the road. I steal glances at her profile, wondering how I got lucky enough to have her agree to come tonight. After weeks of her shooting down my every attempt at flirtation, this feels like a minor miracle.

Families and couples are already setting up chairs around the unlit bonfire pile at the beach. Kids chase each other through the sand while older folks chat in clusters. It's the kind of small-town scene that made me return here after the Army.

I grab our blanket and cooler while Cilla collects her tote bag of carefully selected snacks. We find a spot slightly removed from the main crowd, with a clear view of the bonfire and the bay beyond.

"Perfect," she declares, arranging the blanket with precision.

As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in watercolor shades of orange and pink, I watch Cilla more than the horizon. She's meticulously laying out our picnic, her small hands working with efficient grace.

"You know," I say, uncorking the wine, "for someone who acted like she'd rather get a root canal than spend time with me, you sure put effort into tonight."

She laughs, a genuine sound that makes something in my chest tighten. "I never said I didn't want to spend time with you. I said I didn't have time for your obvious lines."

"Obvious?" I clutch my chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know my lines are artistically crafted and locally sourced."

She rolls her eyes but smiles, handing me a plate loaded with cheese, crackers, and slices of those precious peaches. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. You don't need lines, Rowan. Half the women in Cedar Bay would throw themselves at you if you just grunted and pointed."

"But not you," I say, suddenly serious. The bonfire roars to life before us, someone having finally lit it. Golden light dances across her face, catching in her auburn hair.

"No," she agrees, taking a sip of wine. "Not me."

"Why is that?" I ask, genuinely curious. I've been wondering for weeks.

Cilla looks out at the water, the reflection of the flames rippling on its surface. "Because I've done the whole dating-a-guy-who-knows-he's-hot thing before. It gets old when they're constantly looking for validation."

"Ouch." I wince but can't deny there's some truth to it. "So you figured I was just another pretty face with an ego problem?"

"Something like that." She turns to face me fully now. "But then Mrs. Harrington told me how you rebuilt her porch for cost when she couldn't afford the full price. And Jenny at the café mentioned you watch her kids sometimes when her sitter cancels."

I feel my face warming, and it's not from the bonfire. "People talk too much in this town."

"They do," she agrees. "But sometimes what they say is interesting."

The night deepens around us. Families with young children start to pack up, leaving mostly couples and groups of friends. Someone's playing guitar on the other side of the fire, the soft music carrying over to us on the breeze.

"So what about you?" I ask, refilling our glasses. "Brilliant professor moves to a small town. There's got to be a story there."

Cilla hugs her knees to her chest, looking thoughtful. "I needed space to finish my dissertation. And... I needed to get away from academia for a bit. It can be suffocating sometimes."

"Suffocating how?"

"Everyone competing. Everyone trying to prove they're the smartest person in the room." She sighs. "My ex was the worst. He'd interrupt me during my presentations to 'clarify' points I was making perfectly well on my own."

"Sounds like a real charmer," I say dryly.

"Oh, he thought he was." She laughs, but there's an edge to it. "Anyway, when the position at St. Agnes opened up, it seemed perfect. Small classes, nice town, beautiful scenery. Room to breathe."

"And then I showed up with my obvious lines," I add with a grin.

"And then you showed up," she agrees, but she's smiling now, a genuine smile that reaches her eyes.

The night air grows cooler, and I notice Cilla shiver slightly. Without thinking, I wrap my arm around her shoulders. I expect her to pull away to make some comment about not needing my chivalry, but instead, she leans into me.

"So, what's your story?" she asks softly. "Former quarterback turned soldier turned builder. That's quite the resume."

I stare into the fire, gathering my thoughts. It's not something I talk about much.

"I was supposed to be the hometown hero," I say finally. "Football scholarship to UW, maybe even go pro. Then one bad tackle senior year, and suddenly I'm just another guy with a busted knee and no plan."

She nods, waiting for me to continue.

"The Army gave me direction when I needed it. Structure. Purpose." I take a sip of wine. "And when I got out, I realized I wanted to build things. Create something lasting, you know? Houses, decks, renovations—they stick around. They matter to people."

"Is that why you stayed in Cedar Bay?" she asks. "You could probably make more money with your skills in Seattle."

"Maybe." I shrug. "But this is home. My parents are here. And there's something about knowing your clients, seeing them at the grocery store or the post office. It means you can't half-ass the job."

Cilla laughs. "I imagine Mrs. Harrington would have some choice words if you did."

"Exactly. Plus..." I hesitate, feeling suddenly vulnerable. "I like the pace here––the way the whole town smells like salt and pine and how you can see every star at night."

As if on cue, we both look up. Above us, the night sky is a tapestry of stars, impossibly bright against the darkness. The bonfire has died down to glowing embers, and most other beachgoers have left. The guitarist packed up long ago. It's just us, the stars, and the gentle rhythm of waves against the shore.

"It's beautiful," she whispers.

"Yeah," I agree, but I'm looking at her profile, the curve of her cheek illuminated by starlight.

She turns, catching me staring, and for once, I don't try to play it cool or make a joke. I just hold her gaze, letting her see that this isn't a game to me. Maybe it never was.

"Rowan," she says, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

"Yeah?"

"I think I misjudged you."

I smile. "Does that mean my obvious lines are working?"

She rolls her eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "No. It means maybe you don't need lines at all."

And then she does something that surprises the hell out of me. She leans in, her hand resting against my cheek, and kisses me. It's tentative, as if she's testing the waters, but she's unsure she wants to enter. But when I respond, sliding my hand into her hair and pulling her closer, the kiss deepens into something that sends heat coursing through my entire body.

When we finally break apart, we're both out of breath. Cilla's eyes are wide, reflecting starlight and embers, and there's a flush on her cheeks that I doubt is just from the wine.

"Well," she says, sounding slightly dazed. "That was..."

"Yeah," I agree, feeling stupidly happy. "It was."

She laughs then, a slight, breathless sound. "Very articulate, Malone."

"You kiss me like that, and you expect coherent sentences?" I shake my head in mock dismay. "You have unreasonable standards."

Cilla smiles and leans her head against my shoulder, looking out at the bay where moonlight dances on gentle waves. "The water looks magical tonight," she says softly.

"Careful, Professor Griffin. That's not very scholarly language."

She elbows me gently in the ribs. "I'm allowed poetic observations outside of lecture halls."

We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, my arm around her shoulders, her body warm against mine. The last few embers of the bonfire glow orange against the darkened beach.

"I should probably get you home," I say eventually, though it's the last thing I want to do. "Those dogs of yours will be wondering where you are."

"Birdie and Brody are fine. I left them enough food for the evening." She looks up at me, her expression unreadable in the dim light. "But maybe you're right."

I stand reluctantly, offering her my hand to help her up. As we pack our things, I can't stop stealing glances at her, still not quite believing this night happened. That kiss happened.

We walk back to my truck in companionable silence, hands occasionally brushing against each other until I finally capture hers in mine. Cilla's fingers are small but strong, and she doesn't pull away.

"Thank you for tonight," she says as we reach the truck. "It was... unexpectedly nice."

"Unexpectedly?" I raise an eyebrow, loading our cooler into the back. "You had low expectations, huh?"

She shrugs, a smile playing on her lips. "Let's just say I'm pleasantly surprised."

"I'll take it," I laugh, opening her door for her. "Progress."

The drive back to her bungalow is quiet, but it's not awkward. It's the kind of silence that feels comfortable as if we've known each other much longer than we actually have. I rest my hand on her knee, and she covers it with her thumb, absently tracing circles on my skin.

When I pull up to her house, the porch light is on, and I can hear her dachshunds barking excitedly inside.

"Sounds like your welcoming committee is ready," I say, reluctant to let the night end.

"They're probably accusing me of abandoning them forever," Cilla laughs. "They have a flair for the dramatic."

I walk her to the door, our footsteps crunching on the gravel path. The porch light casts a warm glow across her face, making her eyes shine. Inside, the barking intensifies, accompanied by what sounds like frantic scratching at the door.

"Well," she says, fishing her keys from her bag, "this was..."

"Unexpectedly nice?" I offer, echoing her earlier words.

She smiles, looking down for a moment before meeting my eyes again. "I was going to say surprisingly wonderful."

My heart does a ridiculous little flip in my chest. "Even better."

We stand there, neither of us quite ready to say goodnight. The dogs continue their symphony of whines and barks.

"Birdie and Brody are going to have a conniption if I don't open this door soon," she says but makes no move to do so.

"Can't have that on my conscience," I say, stepping closer. "But before you go..."

I lean down, cupping her face with one hand, and kiss her again. This time, there's nothing tentative about it. Her arms wrap around my neck, and she rises on her tiptoes to meet me halfway. She tastes like wine and peaches, and I could happily stand here all night, but the dogs sound like they're about to break down the door.

When we pull apart, she looks dazed, and my expression matches hers.

"Wow," she whispers.

"Yeah," I agree, unable to form a more eloquent response. "So... can I see you tomorrow?"

She bites her lip, then nods. "I'd like that."

"Good," I say, reluctantly stepping back. "Because I'm not sure I could wait longer than that."

Cilla unlocks her door, and two small black and tan torpedoes immediately shoot out, circling her legs and then darting over to inspect me with suspicious sniffs.

"Birdie, Brody, this is Rowan," she says as if introducing me to roommates rather than dogs. "Be nice. He's the one who built your deck."

I crouch down, offering my hand for them to sniff.

Brody, the slightly larger one, gives my fingers a cautious lick while Birdie continues to eye me warily.

"Don't take it personally," Cilla says. "Birdie's the skeptical one. She'll warm up eventually."

"Like owner, like dog?" I tease, standing up again.

She rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away. "Good night, Rowan. I'll see you tomorrow."