Page 72 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)

Chapter seventy-two

Cam

T he fire is more than a fire—it’s a heartbeat.

Low flames curl over the logs, sending faint hisses of sap into the air, each spark rising like it wants to join the stars. The crackle has a rhythm that feels as steady as breathing, wrapping around the four of us and stitching the night together.

I sit cross-legged on the blanket, mug cradled in both hands, letting the heat seep into my fingers.

Steam rises, carrying the scent of pine needles steeped in water—Theo’s idea of tea, sharp but comforting.

My back is warm from the fire, my face kissed by cooler air, and beside me I feel the faint shift of Jamie settling deeper into his blanket.

Dane sits on my other side, knees bent, forearms draped over them, his steady presence an anchor in the restless night. Theo sits across the fire, his long frame half in shadow, the glow of the flames gilding his cheekbones.

Jamie’s smile hooks just enough to look dangerous. “You know,” he says, “Theo’s fire tea is much better than his campfire stew.”

I glance up. “Campfire stew?”

Theo groans, dragging a hand down his face. “We’re not telling that story.”

“Oh, we are,” Jamie insists, eyes bright. “Picture this: a younger Theo deciding we didn’t need recipes, because he could ‘feel his way through it.’”

Theo rolls his eyes. “It’s called improvising.”

Jamie ignores him. “What we got was charcoal water and potato chunks tough enough to break teeth.”

Dane chuckles, low and rough. “And then the smoke.”

Jamie grins wider. “Enough smoke to signal every ranger in the district. I think they thought we were burning the forest down.”

Theo tips his head back with a groan, though a smile tugs at his mouth. “I got us out of a fine, though.”

“Only because one of the rangers thought you were cute,” Jamie fires back, and Dane snorts.

I hide my grin behind my mug, but inside it blooms, warm and liquid, spreading lower than my chest. Their laughter tugs at something in me I’ve been trying not to name.

I don’t have to speak much to feel included—their voices, their history, the way they fold me into their circle without hesitation.

This isn’t like being with Eric, like the city, where warmth had to be earned, where belonging could be snatched away in a breath. This is different. This is easy. And the ease itself makes my body hum, my heat curling low and steady, not sharp but simmering like embers.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Jamie says, his gaze catching mine over the fire.

“I’m just…” I search for the right word. “Soaking it in. And trying not to laugh too hard at Theo’s expense.”

Theo smirks. “Thank you. At least someone respects me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I tease, and his smirk cracks into a grin.

The conversation drifts on—teasing, old stories—and the fire sinks lower, glowing embers turning the air into a wavy shimmer.

My heat stirs with it, coaxed alive by every shift in their scents—Dane’s grounding, Theo’s sharp focus, Jamie’s dark edge.

Each one distinct, each one catching inside me like a hook.

I lean back slightly, and Dane shifts with me, steady as stone, his hand braced just behind me on the blanket—not quite touching, but close enough that warmth seeps across the inch of space between us.

On my other side, Jamie stretches out, his blanket pulled loose, his gaze a slow drag over me that makes my pulse jump.

“Cold?” he asks, though the look in his eyes tells me he doesn’t buy my answer either way.

“A little,” I lie.

His mouth quirks. “Then come here.”

Before I can think of a protest, he pulls the blanket wider, and I find myself tucked between them. The heat of their bodies sinks into me at once—solid, steady, almost overwhelming in its closeness. My skin prickles, my heat rising to the surface, answering their nearness without my permission.

Across the fire, Theo arches a brow. “Cozy enough now?”

“Very,” I murmur, smiling into my mug to hide how my body is already betraying me.

We sit like that awhile, wrapped in the night—the crackle of fire, the sigh of wind, the rustle of leaves.

My awareness sharpens with every breath: the steady brush of Dane’s shoulder against mine, Jamie’s slow breathing at my other side, the layered mix of their scents filling the air and curling around me like invisible arms.

I tilt my head back, eyes on the stars, sharp and endless. “You ever feel like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be?”

Jamie’s voice is low, almost reverent. “Right now?”

“Yes. Here. With all of you.”

Dane’s hand brushes mine beneath the blanket, fingers curling over mine—quiet, steady. Across the fire, Theo’s expression softens, and though he doesn’t move, his gaze rests on me like a touch of its own.

The fire sinks to coals, its glow steady and deep. Jamie adjusts the blanket to cover us better. Dane leans forward to settle another log on the embers. Theo stays apart, but his eyes keep coming back to us, like he’s committing the moment to memory.

The talk softens, drifts. Favorite foods. Summer skies. Winter storms. Jamie’s grin when he says his favorite is this—fire, night air, company—sends another pulse of warmth through me that has nothing to do with the flames.

At some point, my mug empties and my limbs grow heavy. I shift without thinking, leaning harder into Dane, curling toward Jamie. Neither of them pulls away. If anything, they close in tighter, a shield on both sides.

The warmth isn’t just from the fire anymore. It’s in my blood, humming low and insistent. And as I sit there, the stars wheeling above us, I know I’ll carry this with me. Because this—this laughter, this blanket, this impossible, perfect sense of belonging—is something I’ll burn to keep.