“As long as it’s not corn bread and chili, I’m in.” She smacked a hand over her mouth. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. That was so rude.”

He laughed. “Hardly.” The fact that she apologized immediately after saying it let him know she was as aware of the change developing between them as he was.

And she didn’t want to go back to fighting, either.

He climbed to his feet and cracked his neck. “See, today wasn’t so bad.”

“No, it really wasn’t. The egg disaster aside.” She took his offered hand and let him pull her to her feet. “I almost feel bad for beating you so soundly that last time.”

He headed into the kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets. “Probably as bad as I feel about beating you the first two times.”

“Probably.” She laughed again and went to the fridge. “How about a salad?”

“Do we have the makings for chicken Caesar?”

She bent over to pull open the produce drawer, giving him a heart-stopping view of her ass. Ryan turned away before she looked over, fighting for control of his body. Things were going so well, he didn’t want to fuck them up, and nothing made a situation quite as awkward as sporting a cock-stand in sweats.

When he could turn around without embarrassing himself, he moved over to where she had pulled precooked chicken out of the fridge. “I’ll get this if you want to chop the tomatoes.”

“You mean you’re actually going to let me touch a knife?” She gave him a strange look, but nodded. “Deal.”

Ryan opened the package, doing his damnedest to focus solely on chopping the meat into smaller pieces and not how she was so close he could reach over and run his hand down her spine. They worked in a comfortable silence, and he chopped the chicken and dumped it into the salad before he finally spoke. “I always felt like I was a day late and a dollar short as a kid.”

She filled two glasses with water and took the stool she’d occupied last night. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” He passed over the bowl and slid into the seat next to her. “Though if you don’t want to know, I don’t have to keep going.”

She dished a plate of salad up for herself—and then him, too—before she answered. “I’d like to know.”

Since curiosity was a step in the right direction, he gave her a small smile. “I grew up spending as much time outside my house as possible. It could have been a lot worse, but Drew made sure there was always enough food and warm clothes. I think I would have liked to know a librarian like you, because Old Mrs. Cleaver scared the crap out of me. I used to hide in the stacks until she hobbled back to the front desk before I’d go find the books I was looking for.”

She smiled. “I thought she was perfectly nice.”

He suddenly realized how this must sound. She’d shared a horror story of a childhood and here he was whining about how is brother stepped up to the plate and made sure he didn’t go without. “Drew saved my life, even if I got into a lot of trouble along the way.”

“Does he know that?” Bri took a drink of her water. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business. But your brother doesn’t really talk about what your childhood was like. All his stories are from high school and beyond.”

“High school was full of adventure.” Even if he’d never live it down. But he didn’t have any real regrets from some of the crazy shit he and his old brother got into.

“I’d like to know more, if that’s okay.”

“So he didn’t tell you about the time I started a grease fire trying to cook stir-fry?”

Her eyebrows rose and she snorted. “No, he neglected to mention that your history with fire started before senior year.”

For once, the reminder didn’t stick in his throat. “I was lucky he’d decided to supervise. He’s quick on his feet and got the baking soda into the pan before it did any real damage.”

“That’s fortunate.” She shook her head. “I can picture it all too easily. You guys must have been little hellions.”

“We still are if you ask around.” He took a few bites, letting the silence stretch a few minutes while they both ate. “Has he taken you up to the property?”

She rotated her fork with her fingers. “No. The only reason I know about it is because Avery mentioned it once.”

“The house is gone, I think. I haven’t been up there since I graduated. But the acreage is beautiful—miles and miles of forest and fields, with a nice little stream running through it.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

He’d always thought so. It had been a wonderland for him and his brother growing up, a direct counterpoint to the hell that their house was from time to time. “When I was eight, I went out to build a fort where Drew would never find me.” He shook his head. “There was a bee’s nest in the tree I tried to use for wood.”

“Oh no.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, but her eyes were dancing. “That must have been terrible.”

“After I’d stopping screaming and Old Joe made sure I wasn’t going to die, he whooped my ass for being stupid enough not to check the tree I was hammering on before I started.”

“Old Joe whooped you, huh?”

“Well, he threatened to.” His grin died. “The paramedics weren’t as forgiving, and neither were the horde of Wellingford residents who descended on the ambulance while I was getting patched up. I got more lectures that afternoon than I did the entire year.”

She abandoned her half-empty bowl and turned to face him fully. “Tell me more.”

More? He had countless stories like that, like the time he’d tried to run away after Dad had lost his shit because Ryan quit the peewee football team halfway through the season. He’d hidden out for three days before Drew showed up in his lean-to and talked him into coming back home. But he didn’t want to mar this conversation with Bri by bringing in the crappy times. As many bad memories as he had about this town, it was strange to realize he had just as many good memories. “After Drew read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, he decided it’d be a great idea to build a raft and float down the stream.”

She choked. “And how did that go?”

“It was badass. At first. The raft held us both and seemed like it’d really go the distance.” He paused, enjoying the way she leaned forward, already smiling. “We didn’t plan on the beaver’s dam.”

Talking about this brought back all sorts of memories, of long summers spent running around barefoot, of floating the nearby river, of hours sitting around the campfire. A thought occurred to him, taking root until he couldn’t stop himself from standing and going to the cabinet. He thought he’d seen marshmallows in here, and he was right.

“What are you doing?”

He turned around, holding the marshmallows, Hershey bars, and graham crackers. “We’re going to make s’mores.” He couldn’t change her past, or go back in time to help her when she’d needed someone, but he could damn well give her some good new memories to go with the bad ones. “That is, if you’re willing to risk letting me near the fireplace.”

She smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m not taking my eyes off you.”

…

Bri watched him stoke the fire, touched in ways she hadn’t expected. He’d shared some of his memories with her, bits and pieces of a childhood that was shockingly close to hers in some ways. There were times when she’d wished she had a sister or brother to hold her hand through all of it like Ryan had so she wouldn’t have been so terribly alone. It had taken some time, but she’d finally been able to acknowledge that she wouldn’t be the woman she was today if things had been different.

If she hadn’t suffered through the foster homes and the deaths of her parents, there would be so many kids whose lives she wouldn’t have been able to touch. She loved her place in the library. It was worth everything that had come before.

That being said, she couldn’t stop the warmth flowing through her as Ryan set out the makings for s’mores. This was a gift. Something so sweet and thoughtful, she wasn’t quite sure how to thank him.

“Normally, we’d go pick our own roasting sticks and carve a sharp side to put the marshmallow on, but we’ll have to improvise.” He held up the two wire hangers he’d straightened. “So try not to judge the system too harshly on our crappy roasting tools.”

She smiled as she accepted the hanger and pushed the marshmallow onto its tip. “I’ll do my best.”

“I appreciate that.” He patted the rug next to him. “Now come closer. I promise I won’t bite.”

But what if I want you to?

She hadn’t missed the fact that he’d kept a careful distance between them all day, though she didn’t know if it was because he didn’t want to touch her or if he didn’t trust himself to. Considering their short but eventful history, she was betting on the latter. She wasn’t sure how she felt about his demonstrating so much restraint regarding sex, not when he was showing her so many other things, too. She wished she could blame her growing fondness on hormones, but when he took the sex out of the equation, what else was there?

Then again, it wasn’t like this had been weeks in the making. They had sex less than twenty-four hours ago. But they’d also spent the last six hours talking. Or not talking in some cases. Either way, they hadn’t dissolved into fights, petty or otherwise, since the spat this morning.

She sank into the spot he’d indicated next to the bear’s head. Bri grimaced. “This thing is tacky.”

“Only the best for hunting cabins.”

He pulled the bear’s head up and groaned. She followed his gaze and reached into its mouth to pull out a string of condoms. “It’s like some kind of demented Easter egg hunt.”