Page 43 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

I chant the words in my head but they don’t stop my fingers from flexing, desperate to reach for her. They don’t stop me from wanting the taste of her against my lips.

“Monty!” Eli calls, walking toward us, a big smile on his face. Like Penny he also has a firefly on his far-too-pretty face, and his blue eyes dance as he shakes out that damn fancy hair that seems to move with the wind. I glance at Penny to see if she’s staring at him with stars in her eyes, but she’s watching me. “How’s it being on this side of the fence?”

I glance behind him to see Walker, Tally, and Daisy following behind. “I’m definitely not in shape to play anymore.” Unlike Eli, who still has the build of the professional athlete he so recently was.

Penny snorts from beside me.

“Got something to say, Xuxuzinho?” I tease.

“I think you’d do just fine out there.”

I raise my brow, delight coursing through me. “You saying I look good?”

With a small grin she turns away from me, shaking her head. “Don’t go fishing for compliments, Monty. Cocky doesn’t look good on you.”

“But does my girlfriend think I look good?” Fuck, I like saying that word—claiming her, calling her mine.

“Oh, churros! I didn’t know they had them!” Tally squeals, saving Penny from replying. “Pen, can you watch Daisy while we grab some?”

Penny jumps into action as if she can’t get away quick enough. “You got it.”

“Cows don’t belong at football games,” someone shouts from the stands, and the glare Walker shoots in their direction could burn a man.

Tally rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, Stew!”

I stick close to Penny for the rest of the afternoon because I can’t seem to get enough of her. She flushes hot anytime I flirt with her, brush a rogue hair from her face, or try to hold her hand.

Tally teases Walker relentlessly, trying to get him to do anything other than grunt, and he keeps an arm slung possessively around her waist or shoulders. Eli jokes with everyone, making Penny laugh far too often for my liking. But as the clock on the scoreboard runs down, I feel my mood lifting, knowing that, tonight, Penny’s full attention will be mine.

***

My father’s sailboat dips and bobs in the amethyst waters as dusk settles over the harbor at the end of our garden. There is a slight chill in the air that feels fresh and full of new life. Below my feet, the grass crunches and a deer grazing down by the water’s edge glances up, her eyes meeting mine in surprise at the sounds. I hold up a hand and offer a coaxing voice, letting her know she’s free to relax, that I’m just getting to work on the bonfire. Then I drop the wood I’m carrying and the sound sends her running toward the woods to the right of our house.

Within the hour this place will be teeming with people, so it’s better that she gets away now. Living on the harbor and abutting the woods mean our property is mostly quiet, but any sound echoes on the water so tonight it will be lively in this normally peaceful oasis.

I’m tempted to walk out onto the dock to settle on the wooden planks for a few minutes and enjoy the early fall evening but the sound of laughter trickling down from the house has me shaking off my lazy feeling.

Penny is in the house helping Vovo prepare food. My father advertises s’mores and hot chocolate on bonfire nights, but a Brazilian woman would never serve just that. Everyone in Hope Harbor knows to arrive with their stomachs empty and ready to feast.

When I was in high school, my mother would be inside helping alongside Penny. It makes me feel warm to think of how she’s always been part of this tradition. Bonfire nights she just showed up and lent a hand.

I never thought much of it because that’s how our town does things. Penny’s father would be out here with my father and me setting up, telling a joke, asking about my writing.

My chest clenches and I wonder if Penny remembers that as well. If coming here is harder now that he’s not here. Then again, everything in Hope Harbor must remind her of him. They say only the good die young, but it feels especially poignant when referring to Peter Darling. He was one of the best.

I look out for my own dad. Last I saw him he was setting up bales of hay around the firepit, but he’s not there. I head inside to find him only to hear the strangest thing: Frank Sinatra crooning “Witchcraft” over the old record player in the living room. I know that’s what it is because of the static that slips through. I haven’t heard that sound in years. Over a decade at least.

Since before my grandfather died.

Cautiously, I walk toward the music, unsure of what I might find. When I round the corner and spot my father spinning Penny around the living room, both of them grinning, my heart squeezes tight.

I haven’t seen my father in this light in a long time. And suddenly, though he’s right in front of me, I miss him.

Vovo is beside the fireplace, her lips hooked up in a smile, too. It’s a soft one, but when she sees me from across the room, she beams.

Mesmerized, I watch as my father sways Penny from side to side, neither of them noticing me. I’m transported to a time, many years ago, when my grandfather taught Penny and me how to dance exactly how she and my father are now.

Penny was a part of our family—she was my best friend—but somehow, I’d forgotten. Or maybe I’d forced myself to forget.