Page 14 of Striking the Match (Redwood Bay Fire #3)

He talks about the moment he realized he could play football professionally after he saw a game on TV when he was seven years old, and how he never looked back.

I tell him how I knew I wanted to be a firefighter since about the same age and some of the local crew came into our school to give a safety talk.

He wanted to make people happy by playing for a team. I wanted to save people by joining one.

We compare fitness training regimes, debate favorite flavors of ice cream, and ponder how long these trees might last and what they might see in their lifetimes.

I’ve read and seen and heard so many interviews with him over the years, but here we are, bantering back and forth about TV shows we’ve watched recently, the books we’re currently reading, and the kind of music we jam to.

My pain from earlier today and the shift last night melts away. At some point, nothing else seems to matter except Cassius’s warm smile and the gently swaying forest around us.

When he worries that he’s boring me by describing every tiny little detail about Kiki’s new life with him, I immediately promise him it’s not boring in the slightest. I want to hear about what kinds of wet foods are temping her out from under the sofa, how she growls at herself in the mirror at 3am, and the time she managed to climb onto the top shelf of Cassius’s trophy cabinet and started knocking down his awards one by one, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time.

“Luckily, the room was carpeted and only one of them was glass, but it was just audacity of it,” he tells me as we both laugh breathlessly.

It’s only then do I look around and realize with a jolt that we’re in the parking lot once more. I’ve been so mesmerized by Cassius that I barely registered coming back down the tower or walking along the pathway that brought us back to our cars.

Dread suddenly washes through me.

This whole scenario is so astronomically impossible. I don’t want it to end, because what are the chances of anything like this ever happening again? The temptation to cling onto the moment with both hands, like I’m dangling from a building by my fingertips, is frighteningly strong.

“Oh, man,” Cassius says with a sigh, glancing to his truck then back at me. “I swear we only just got here.”

“Yeah,” I say in a noncommittal way, not daring to get my hopes up. He’s probably got plans with other friends. I do believe him when he said he’s enjoyed having an escape with me, but it would make sense to get back to his real life and?—

“You hungry?”

I blink, my heart doing a Simone Biles worthy flip in my chest. “Uh, yeah,” I say nervously, not wanting my brain to jump to any conclusions along with the gymnastics happening inside my chest.

“Do you like Japanese food?” he continues easily, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I’ve become obsessed with this place called Jiyū Sushi Bar.”

“Oh,” I blurt out. “We were first on scene when the earthquake tore a chunk of it down back in the spring! One of my friends—well, a colleague—no, a friend. Anyway, Del rescued his now husband that day and they literally just left a few days ago to have their honeymoon in Japan because the restaurant and the Japanese community around here became so important to them and…”

Oh dear lord, I’m rambling. It’s not that I’m terrified what having dinner might mean for whatever it is that’s developing between Cassius and I.

Nuh-uh.

“Um, yeah, I know it. The food’s amazing. But I’m not really dressed for?—”

He saves me from saying something totally mortifying like ‘I’m not really dressed for a date with Cassius Garda at a fancy restaurant.’ Mercifully, my fic writer apparently stopped to crack her knuckles at the right moment.

“Not to be the world’s biggest jerk,” he says with a grimace. “But I don’t like to just drop into places without reserving a private area. It’s no fun for me, nor who I’m with, and quite frankly, it can be pretty shit for the staff to have to deal with.”

My heart squeezes. It’s funny how people always think of the perks of fame and not things like that. “Damn, I’m sorry,” I say genuinely.

The look he gives me is soft and I’m immensely grateful that there’s no one else around in the parking lot right now. I don’t want to share this feeling. Like I’m floating and melting all at the same time.

“I’d like to take you out to dinner sometime, though, Teddy,” he murmurs.

My face flames and I try not to get too dizzy.

But when he talks like that…it’s like this could be a date we’ve been on, and I didn’t even realize.

The idea that he’d be interested in me like that is ten times harder to grasp than him wanting to be friends.

But he just said he wanted to take me out to dinner sometime…

and from what he explained a moment ago, that would involve a lot of effort and logistics. That would be a Big Deal.

Suddenly, it’s like we both notice we’ve been gazing into each other’s eyes. I laugh and he clears his throat with a grin, looking back down at his phone.

“For tonight, how does some takeout sound?” he asks. “There’s this place I’d love to show you that I used to go to all the time when I was a teenager growing up here. We could get it delivered there and eat al fresco.”

As if that doesn’t sound even more special than the sushi bar. I don’t care if it’s a graffitied park bench. The fact he wants to share something from his childhood with me is such an honor.

“I’d love that,” I manage to utter.

He bites his lip and grins, his eyes still on his phone. If his skin was lighter, I feel like I might even be witnessing a blush right now.

It’s not even about him being a celebrity, not really. It’s the fact that I can have that effect on a guy I really like. That he sees me and cares about me enough to hang onto my every word. The rush is more extreme than any burning building I’ve ever jumped off.

“I’m just ordering a bit of everything, if that’s okay? Do you have any allergies or dislikes?”

“Not really,” I admit. “But, um, have you tried the wagyu steak tartare? I’ve only had it once, but?—”

“Yes, oh my god, it’s incredible,” he interrupts excitedly, pecking away with his thumb on his phone. “We have to get it with the caviar, though, right?”

Seeing as that triples the price, I can’t say I’ve ever tried it that way. But rather than be crass and mention money, I just grin and say, “Oh, obviously.”

“Okay, done,” he says triumphantly a minute later before putting his phone away. “Do you want to follow me in your car, and I’ll get us to the destination?”

This feels like another secret he’s letting me in on. Imposter syndrome is still alive and well in the back of my mind. But it’s also like I’m the hero of a kid’s story, stepping through a magical portal into an unknown realm.

I guess we’ve upgraded from fanfiction now, huh?

“Lead the way,” I tell him, accepting the call to adventure.

Redwood Bay isn’t a big town. It doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes to get from any point to another, even from the outskirts like where we are in the forest. But as I follow Cassius’s Longhorn, it’s still enough time for my nerves to creep up once more, like ivy growing extra fast in my chest, winding its way around my heart and lungs.

“This is fine,” I whisper to myself as I drive.

“You’re fine. Actually, you’re great. Don’t sabotage yourself.

Why shouldn’t nice things happen to you?

You might not be famous, but you’re a good person.

Don’t overthink this. Just keep having fun with this cool guy you met.

It’s that simple, okay? No one is forcing him to hang out with you.

He’s doing it because he wants to. Just trust that and relax. ”

I keep up the pep talk until I pull up at a dirt lot by the beach.

We’re not near the main touristy area where the surfers congregate with the various little food stalls and trinket stands.

In fact, it feels like there isn’t much here aside from the sudden drop down to the sandy shore below. Not even a graffitied bench.

There is a guy waiting beside a motorcycle, though, and when Cassius gets out of the car before me, the driver smiles and turns to open his top box, removing a relatively large and full-looking brown paper carrier bag.

Holy crap. Is that our food? I guess Cassius ordered it a few minutes before we set off from the walkway experience and it probably took more like twenty minutes to drive here as we’re basically past the opposite side of town.

But still, that’s impressive. As I kill my ignition and unbuckle my seatbelt, I see Cassius take the bag from the delivery guy and shake his hand.

Except I swear he also presses several bills into the guy’s hand, smooth as silk.

I know he’s crazy rich. But the fact that I catch him discreetly tipping the delivery driver makes my heart ache with admiration. It’s obvious I wasn’t supposed to see that. He did it just to be kind to someone who rushed our food order, not because he wanted to impress me.

It makes me like him even more.

This feels dangerous, but apparently my fanfic-turned-YA-author is on a roll and doesn’t seem to be slowing down any time soon. Could I actually allow myself to run away with the idea that Cassius and I might be friends going forward and this isn’t just one unbelievable blip of an afternoon?

Could I actually allow myself to lean into these feelings pulsing through my veins of adoration and need and desire?

That’s the dangerous part, the terrifying part.

Because it seems like there truly is something simmering between us, and while that’s absolutely thrilling, it’s also bigger and more complicated than anything I’ve ever experienced before.

He’s not just a famous former football player.

He’s much older than me. Surely a sophisticated, worldly guy like him wouldn’t be interested in a kid like me.

Then what are we doing here if he isn’t?