Fireworks

by Sarina Bowen

  “I don’t think it’s my thing,” I admit. “I’d have to learn it all over again.”

  “Then let’s find you a drink, before my family swarms.”

  “Do they have Shipley Cider?” I hear myself ask. I might as well get one more taste while I still can.

  “You can bet on it. In fact…” Benito gives me a cheeky smile that makes his brown eyes sparkle. “You should try their award-winner. It’s called Audrey.”

  “It’s that good, huh?”

  “It’s a great beverage,” he agrees, his brown eyes sparkling. “And some would call it inspirational.”

  “Really.” I swear I can’t look away from this man. I couldn’t tell you who else is in this room right now, because only one person here interests me. “Well then, I’ve got to try it.”

  “Coming right up,” he says.

  Nineteen

  Benito

  I fetch a pint of Audrey for Skye. It’s a terrific cider, and it’s won awards. Also, people claim that it’s an aphrodisiac. That’s probably not really true, but a guy can dream.

  “Here, honey,” I say, handing it over. “Drink up.”

  She takes a sip and watches me with those bright blue eyes. I feel a familiar tightness in my groin, and it doesn’t have a thing to do with cider.

  We could have just stood there for the whole evening staring at each other, but I hear my mother let out a shriek from across the room. And when I look up, she’s locked onto us like a heat-seeking missile.

  That’s when I realize that I’ve made a severe miscalculation. I should have warned Mom that Skye had come back to town. Furthermore, I should have let on to my family members that Skye isn’t here in Vermont just to shack up with me.

  But it’s too late now. As she comes barreling toward us, with a look of ecstasy on her face, I can almost hear her planning my wedding.

  This is going to be awkward.

  “Oh, thank you, baby Jesus!” Mom skids to a stop in front of Skylar. “Honey. I can’t believe my eyes! You are six inches taller and twice as beautiful as you were at sixteen. And you were already a very pretty, very tall girl then.” She claps a hand to her heart.

  “Hi, Mrs. Rossi,” Skye says shyly. “It’s good to see you.”

  Mom isn’t done, though. She has to reach up to clamp her hands onto Skye’s shoulders. “It’s great to see you. A revelation! I can’t believe Benny didn’t tell me you were coming! This is so exciting. And when I asked him if he was coming to Sunday lunch today, he said he had to work!”

  “I did work,” I grumble. Poor Skye is literally getting hug-mugged by my mother. “Maybe loosen your grip a little? There’s a fine line between welcoming and psychotic.”

  That does the trick because Mom has to let go of Skye in order to smack me on the arm. “Behave! And I need more details. How did you two reconnect?” she crows. “This is so exciting.”

  Skye shoots me a glance over my mother’s head. “It was an accident, to be honest,” she admits. “My crazy stepsister, um, abandoned me for the weekend. And Benito has been kind enough to entertain me instead.”

  I hear Zara’s quiet laughter nearby. “Is that what we’re calling it?” She’s enjoying this. If she loved me, she’d rescue us.

  “You must come for dinner! You and Benny. Tuesday night at my place.” Mom’s breathless excitement is making me twitchy.

  “That would be lovely, if I’m still in town,” Skye says sweetly. “What can I bring?”

  “You don’t have to bring a thing! Just your beautiful self. You know, Benny has been moping around here for more than a decade wondering what became of you.”

  Just shoot me already.

  It’s obvious that Skye has no clue what to say. “How about I bring dessert? Do you like tiramisu?”

  “I love tiramisu!” my mother gasps. But what she really means is, How many grandchildren will you give me?

  Zara snickers behind me. And I think I hear Damien’s chuckle, too.

  “Well,” Skye says, gulping air. “I think I hear the band starting up.”

  “Dance with me?” I ask.

  Her blue eyes sparkle at me. “I love contra dancing!”

  “Do you now? Let’s do it.” I squeeze her hand.

  “Don’t forget—Tuesday night!” my mother reminds us. “Seven o’clock!” She gives me a pointed look that says, We’ll be speaking more about this later. Then she lifts her chin and walks away, undoubtedly toward her bridge-club ladies. Time for gossip.

  Skye takes a deep drink of the cider in her hand. “Wow. This is…” She takes another sip. “Really interesting. So earthy. Was your Mom always so intense?”

  “Oh, sure she was,” Zara says, appearing by her side with laughing eyes. She’s got Nicole on her hip, but she wraps her free arm around my shoulder. “It was refreshing to watch you be tormented for once. Did you enjoy your turn?”

  “It was totes fun,” I mumble. “Where’s the guest of honor?”

  “Right there,” Zara says, pointing out Audrey near the dessert table. “Are you going to hold the baby?”

  “No, holding me!” Nicole yells, stretching her arms out for me. “Bimbo! Bimboooooo.”

  Heads turn everywhere to see why a toddler is yelling “Bimbo” at the top of her lungs.

  “I’m right here.” I grab her from my sister. “No need to shout.”

  Zara and Skye both cackle.

  Then Zara turns to Skye. “Listen,” Zara says. “Twelve years ago I never got the chance to—”

  “Whoa.” I interrupt my sister. “Can we go five minutes without talking about high school, please?”

  She pulls a face. “I’m only trying to apologize.”

  “There’s really no need,” Skye says quickly.

  “Actually—” Zara starts to argue.

  We are saved by Audrey, who approaches with her newborn son, who’s wearing a fuzzy brown one-piece with bear’s ears on the hood that’s covering his little bald head.

  “Baby,” Nicole says, pointing.

  “Shouldn’t I hold him?” I ask her.

  “No! Me.”

  Skye smiles, and I swear I can practically see hearts in her eyes, like a cartoon character in love. “Well, can I hold him, then? I’m Skylar, by the way. I guess I should have said that before asking to hold your newborn.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard all about you this week,” Audrey says, handing the baby into Skye’s waiting arms. “I’m Audrey Shipley.” She takes Skye’s half-empty cider glass to give my girl full use of her hands.

  “Aren’t you just amazing,” Skye whispers to the baby. There’s a note of awe in her voice that I’ve never heard before. “How old are you?”

  “He’s seven weeks,” Audrey says. “He’s August Griffin Shipley the third.”

  “That’s a lot of names for one little cub,” Skye says, rocking him as lovingly as if he were the Christ child. As I’ve said before, love at first sight is totally real. And I think Skye just fell head over heels for an infant in a bear suit.

  “We call him Gus,” Audrey explains.

  “Mmm. You know that old story about Rip Van Winkle?” Skye lifts her chin and smiles at Audrey. “When I left Vermont, Griffin Shipley was about to become a college kid, and May was a skinny ninth-grader.”

  “Wow.” Audrey laughs. “Tell me tales! Was Griffin awful?”

  “I wasn’t!” Griffin insists, stepping into our circle and putting an arm around his wife. “I was a perfect gentleman at all times.” He winks.

  “Yeah, I was the awful one,” Zara says.

  “I didn’t live here long,” Skye says, carefully avoiding the subject of who was or wasn’t awful. “But still—this weekend has been a real time warp. Congratulations on your little boy.”

  “Thank you!” Griffin crows. The big man has been beaming nonstop since the day of his child’s birth—anyone can see how happy he is.

  The band launches into a fiddle tune, signaling the start of the contra dance.

  “You
promised me a dance,” I point out to Skye. “Even if it was just an evasive maneuver, I want it.”

  “Okay, bossy.” After one more snuggle, Skye trades Audrey back—handing over the baby and taking her cider glass.

  “Have fun!” Audrey encourages her. She gives Skye and I one more measuring glance, because small towns run on coffee, pastries and gossip. “Nice to meet you, Skylar.”

  “Good to see you again,” Griffin adds. Because he really is a gentleman.

  “Food,” Nicole says in my arms.

  “I’ll hook you up, baby girl,” Zara says, taking my niece back. “Let’s go make you a plate.”

  The contra dance starts slowly, with the caller giving out lots of instructions. Skye and I get a refresher on allemandes and see-saws and promenades. When the caller teaches us the “gypsy and swing,” he says that we’re supposed to stare into each other’s eyes. Like that’s a hardship. Hell, I practically fall in headlong every time I look at her.

  Skye doesn’t seem to mind, either. Her gaze lingers. And every time the dance calls for us to touch, I feel the heat between us.

  Contra dance isn’t meant to be erotic. But there’s no denying the crackle that happens when our hands brush and our eyes meet.

  “You know,” I whisper to Skye as we promenade, “my mother fell for my father at a dance. And then quickly had five children.” I leave out the ugly parts of that story, but there were nice parts, too.

  “I can’t imagine how that happened,” she says, and then flashes me a hot smile with rosebud lips.

  Maybe I’m not the first man to get turned on while learning a move they call the Mad Robin. But I probably won’t be the last, either.

  When it’s time to speed things up, the caller arranges us into long lines, and the fiddler tucks into his tune. The banjo dives in, knuckles flying, pounding out a rhythm. The whole room moves in time with the beat. It’s really cool, except for the fact that I lose Skylar. This dance takes her down the line without me, looping among other men.

  I’m watching her silk hair flying when I almost lose the thread entirely, turning to my left instead of my right, and crashing right into May Shipley. “Jesus. Sorry,” I sputter.

  She laughs and bumps my hip with hers as a punishment. “Must be hard to do this with your tongue hanging out like that.” She yanks me back into position so I can meet the next partner in time.

  It’s Daphne Shipley. “Another one bites the dust,” is all she says to me.

  So it’s official—I’m the least subtle person in the room. But it doesn’t matter, I suppose. I only need my poker face for drug busts.

  Eventually we pause for food. Skye’s cheeks are pink, and she complains of thirst. So I get her another cider and a glass of water.

  “Where shall we sit?” she asks, handing me a plate of barbecued ribs with all the fixings.

  “With Alec and May?” I point to a table. “Mom is on the other side of the room, gossiping with Ruth and Grandpa Shipley. Sit down before she sees us.”

  We sit down and tuck into the barbecue. We’re joined by Roderick—baker extraordinaire—who works for my sister and Audrey at the Busy Bean.

  “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Roderick says to Skye. “It’s been bugging me since you came into the coffee shop on Saturday. I’ve seen you before.”

  “She lived here for a year during high school,” I offer. “Twelve years ago.”

  “That’s not it…” Roderick’s forehead wrinkles. “Actually, you remind me of this girl I saw on YouTube.”

  “Here we go…” Skye says under her breath.

  “Yes!” Roderick snaps his fingers. “It was a weather report! I swear she was your twin! The girl drew…”

  “A penis,” Skye says with a sigh. “That was me. But it was a traffic map, not the weather.”

  “Yeah!” Roderick says. “Traffic. Right! It was epic. I’m a fan of penises in general, but this one was stellar.”

  “Wait, really?” my brother Alec snorts. He pulls out his phone. “I need to see this.”

  Cringing, Skye turns to me. “Do me a favor? Don’t Google it.”

  “Okay,” I say immediately.

  “I’m serious. Do me the favor of not looking it up.” Her blue eyes beg me.

  A moment later, Alec lets out a hoot of laughter. So now I’m desperately curious. I mean—drawing a penis by accident? How is it a penis and not, say, a long oval? “Were there pubes?”

  “No—but there were balls,” Roderick says.

  Alec lifts his eyes from his phone. “That is undeniably a dick. Central Park is well-endowed.”

  Skye looks like she wants to sink into the floor. “Let’s check out the dessert offerings, shall we?” I ask, standing up suddenly. I don’t want her to feel embarrassed.

  She gets up and takes both our plates.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, as we head over to the food. “My family is good at finding sore spots and then poking them.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she says with a sigh. “Several million people have already seen it.”

  “I won’t watch,” I promise her.

  She stops. “Really?”

  “You asked me not to. So I won’t.”

  She blinks. “Thank you. You can be the one person who doesn’t see me make a fool of myself.”

  “No problem, honey. Everyone has their moments. But mine aren’t captured on camera.”

  “Must be nice.”

  After that, we eat some brownies that are so dark and delicious they make me want to cry. “Listen, let’s do a quick circuit,” I suggest. “If I say hello to some people, then I can cut out early.”

  I introduce Skye to Father Peters, who performed little Gus’s baptism. And to the Abrahams—Griff’s neighbors.

  “You know,” Skye says. “Go ahead and mingle. I don’t need babysitting. I won’t go off into the trees and get drunk.”

  I snort at that memory. “Good to know, honey. But that’s not why I keep you handy.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No.” I catch her chin in my hand and our gazes lock. “I just don’t want to let you go. You’ve been giving me the ‘fuck me’ eyes all night, and I like it.”

  Skye’s eyes flare, but she shakes her head. “I’m not.”

  “You are.” Every time she looks my way there’s a new heat in her expression. “It started this morning, and it hasn’t stopped since.”

  Her mouth falls open. “That’s impossible. Never in my life have I given anyone the…” She clears her throat.

  “I know you can’t say it,” I say with a chuckle. “But if you’re going to look at a man that way, at least own up to it. I practically need a cold shower every time I catch you undressing me with your eyes.”

  “You have a very large ego.” Skye lifts her chin. “Maybe it’s all in your imagination.”

  “Yeah? Prove it.” I take her glass from her hand and set it onto a table. “One more dance.” The band is playing a slow song right now. It’s sort of a bluegrass version of “Hotel California.”

  Skye lets me lead her out into the sea of dancing bodies. When I put my hand on the small of her back and pull her close, she sighs. “We shouldn’t tempt me,” she whispers. “I thought the first priority was finding Rayanne.”

  “Oh it is. But you’re the one who wanted to give her time. Meanwhile, you and I have other work to do.” I slide my hands around her waist and step into her personal space.

  And when her smooth hands land on my body, I know she can’t even pretend to hide it anymore. As we begin to sway, her blue eyes flare with longing. I turn Skye gently in a circle, and she studies my lips with a hungry expression. And when she raises those pretty eyes to mine, I can tell she’s plotting to remove every item of my clothing. With her teeth.

  “That’s right,” I whisper. “You can look at me like that all you want.” Leaning in, I drag my lips along her cheekbone in a slow kiss. She lets out a hot breath, and I smile into her hair, my hands dancing down her
back, and then up again.

  “Oh jeez,” Skye groans, and then steps back an inch. “People will stare.”

  It’s a fair point. I feel a little crazy right now, and I’ll never hear the end of it from my siblings if I maul Skye in the middle of a party. So there’s only one thing to do. “Come on.” I take her hand and give it a little tug. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  Without answering, I lead her off the dance floor, drawing her outside through the nearest exit. Since my brother’s new joint isn’t open yet, the parking lot isn’t lit, and it’s dark outside the building. I waste no time pressing Skye up against the wall and finding her hot mouth with mine.

  She moans into the first kiss, and her fingers grip my shirt.

  It takes all my willpower to kiss her slowly. I want to paw her like a beast. But I can’t take that risk. Skye wants me, but she’s skittish. I still don’t quite understand it, but I want to.

  My pulse is pounding in my ears, but I’m gentle when I tease her lips apart and deepen our kiss. She moans again as I slide my tongue over hers, and the sound vibrates in my chest and tightens my groin.

  God, this woman could rip my heart in half again. I know it and I don’t even care.

  I thrust my cock slowly against her body as I kiss her again. Skye makes a new, desperate noise and pushes her breasts against my chest. Her fingers are in my hair and her torso molds to mine.

  “Sweet girl,” I whisper against her lips. “You need something from me?”

  She blinks at me in wonder.

  “You can’t say, it, can you? You can’t say—take me home and fuck me.”

  Her head gives a tiny shake.

  I let my hands drift down her curves, and she shivers in my arms. “But that’s what you need, isn’t it? Kiss me again if I’m right.”

  Skye leans in immediately, her lips fitted to mine, her whimper loud and astonished as I claim her mouth and stoke her body like a campfire.

  And I’m relentless. Bracing her against the wall, I kiss her with everything I’ve got. Every broken promise between us is cast away into the dark, damp night. All the lonely nights I’ve needed her are like fuel on these flames.