The Bonfire Romance Pt 01

It was chilly. Possibly even cold. The sand cushioned each step, softening back pain from decades of labor and poor posture. In the distance, she saw the fire. Her destination. Other than her shallow breathing there was only the gentle crashing of waves against the shore and the crackling of burning wood. She inhaled as she drew closer, a rush of memories coming to her like sparks.

The first time she went camping with her family, she still had a faint scar from it. The first time she stayed up until sunrise singing nonsense campfire songs. The first time she unwisely slept under the stars at the height of cicada season. She smiled to herself, finally close enough to see the silhouette of someone waiting for her amongst a circle of worn, wooden beach chairs, backlit by the roaring fire.

No

, she thought,

not roaring. Why do we say fires are 'roaring', how silly. It's crackling. It's warm. A roar implies I should be afraid. I'm not. I shouldn't be. Should I?

She took her seat opposite whoever was waiting for her. It all had to be so very proper, you could not look to see who was waiting until you sat. So, she kept her eyes on the not-roaring fire until her ass met the warm, dry wood of the chair, her heart pounding with excitement the entire way. Who could it be? Her old friend from high school, the one who wanted to be a fashion designer but settled on teaching? The one roommate she liked in college? His friend? The co-worker she would have run away with if she'd won the lottery? The list of people ran wild in her mind, her hopes rising with the heat of the fire. She took a breath and looked up.

Who the fuck is this?

He had a face that seemed familiar but in a "one of those faces" ways. She couldn't remember having ever meet this man. His smile was soft, dimpled. She would have remembered a soft, dimpled smile. His eyes were dark and kind. She would have remembered that. His hair was cropped short, but it seemed wrong. This severe cut didn't match the softness of him, the safety.

"How have you been?" He asked, then laughed and shook his head. He tilted his head down, eyes on the fire. "Well, that's a stupid question, isn't it?" He had a soft accent, slightly Southern. So he must have lived where she did. He knew her and he did seem vaguely familiar. She met a lot of people at work, maybe he'd been a regular or co-worker that had moved away for some reason or another. It was always sad to see them go, but she couldn't blame them. Their town was small by most people's standards. It was good when

anyone

got out.

Oh, she had been silent too long. "I've been..." there was no truthful answer that wouldn't start a longer conversation than she wanted. He seemed nice enough but she didn't know him. "I've been good. You?"

He laughed. The sound made her heart flutter.

Jesus

. She fought the urge to roll her eyes at herself, she always was a sucker for a man with brown eyes. "I've been good. Got here not too long ago."

"Ah." Was he a friend of a friend? If he had been a regular then that would make sense. Most of her friends were from work. "Is...do you know who else is coming?"

He shrugged. A dark bottle was brought to his lips, she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Her heart beat against her chest as if begging to escape. Heat rose in her cheeks as her eyes traveled down. He was wearing a plain gray t-shit that was ridiculously tight. She watched the muscles of his arm holding the bottle flex as he set it down. Then watched the muscles of the other arm as he brought his free hand up to wipe his mouth. "It's not like there are itineraries for these things."

She laughed before she could stop herself. He smiled at her. The heat in her cheeks traveled lower. She squirmed in her chair.

Jesus.

"Well, I guess it's early." She looked up to the sky, intending to find the moon to see just how early it was, but there were too many clouds to see.

"Beginning, I bet."

She nodded, her eyes still on the sky. The clouds were moving quickly, but there wasn't much wind. Not down by the fire, at least. "Yeah. Beginning."

"So, tell me." She heard him shift in his chair but it was easier to keep her eyes on the sky than look at him.

"Tell you what?"

"About your regrets. Y'know," she heard him shift again, "'tell me about regrets, yours, and I'll tell you mine'."

She smiled. "It's 'despair'. Not 'regrets'."

"Is there a difference?"

Look at him

. A small voice whispered in the back of her mind, but even the memory of that smile was causing the heat of the fire to bloom within her belly. And she didn't want it to move any lower. She ran her hands over her hair, bunching the curls together in a makeshift ponytail and leaning back to let them fall over the back of the chair. "I suppose not."

"You suppose not?" He laughed. "Come on, then. Tell me about them."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes." The laughter was gone from his voice. Replaced by a strange hardness that sank the heat inside her right where she didn't want it.

Jesus.

Well, might as well look now. His eyes were on the bonfire. She watched shadows cut across his face. His thick, dark eyebrows were knitted together. "Why?"

He sighed. "Have a drink. We have time."

"That wasn't an answer."

He looked at her, his eyes bright. Jesus. Those eyes were as sinful as they were kind. Safe. They were safe. Under his gaze she could be anything. Even herself. He nodded to a space to the right of her. She looked down. Half buried in the sand was a dark bottle of wine. She wrapped her hand around the neck and tugged.

"Holy shit." It was a wine she'd had in college. She couldn't find it in the south but every so often she'd get a wild hair up her ass and try anyway. It was cheap, no corkscrew necessary, so she twisted the metal cap off and took a whiff. "How?" She looked at him. He shrugged the way a friend does when you ask how they...well, how they found an elusive wine you'd been searching for over a decade. That sort of bashful shrug that's always accompanied by an equally bashful smile. "Here's one. A regret. I regret I still can't find a local store that sells this."

His smile faltered. His eyes moved to his beer bottle. His fingers started picking at the label. "It means 'romance', y'know?"

She nodded and bowed her head to smell the wine again. "I know. Haven't had it in...oh, fifteen years? More?" She laughed softly. "When did I get old?"

"About the same time as everyone else."

She laughed harder. "What's the age? Or is it the moment you hurt yourself sneezing?"

A small smile spread across his lips. "You're stalling, aren't you?"

"You said we have time." She took a swig of the wine. It was good. Better than she remembered but of course she barely remembered what it tasted like back then. Before she knew what the world was. How cold it could be.

"How is it?"

"Reminds me of college."

"It should."

"I have many regrets from then." Her eyes were on the bottle, she could almost hear the sounds of the party from then. A rare moment when she felt like part of something. But he didn't want the good times. He wanted the regrets. The pool at this party became the pool at another. A birthday party. A night of bravery and cowardice. A night when she surprised herself only briefly before settling back, safe and sound, into her shell.

She took a deep breath. Preparing herself for the sight of him. It wasn't deep enough. His eyes were on her again, expectant.

Jesus.

She cleared her throat. "All right. You want regrets? Here's one."