He leads us to the entrance of Sunset Ranch and buys all-day tickets. Curiosity burns inside me at what could possibly keep us here all day.
Together.
The wind picks up, finding its way into the opening of my leather jacket and making goosebumps spread across my arms. I take my hand out of Bash’s to zip it up, and his eyes trace the movement.
“You’re cold,” he says, removing his jacket and the scarf from around his neck.
“No, it’s alright. I’ll just zip this up.”
“Don’t be silly.” He hands me his jacket and wraps his heavy, maroon scarf around my neck himself. Instantly, his scent swarms my nostrils. It’s not that his scent is too strong or overpowering or anything. It’s the opposite, actually. I can’t get enough of it, and when he’s not looking, I lift the scarf to my nose and inhale deeply, letting my heart react to the spicy citrus and sandalwood smell of Bash.
When I glance up, we’re standing in line to ride a hot air balloon. My eyes widen. “Um…have you done this before?”
He grins. “Many times. But I get the feeling you haven’t.”
“Nope. Can’t say I make a point to randomly ride hot air balloons.”
“Well, then you’re clearly missing out.”
I just stare at him, frozen in place.
“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” He looks amused, lips pulled up in a teasing smile.
“Of course not. Heights are fun!” I try to sound upbeat, but my voice wavers. “I’m fine.”
He laughs, throwing his arm around my shoulders. Leaning in close to my face, he whispers, “Truth be told, I was terrified the first time my mum dragged me onto one of these. She’s a bit of a thrill seeker, and I was nothing but a pansy the entire time. But I promise you’re going to have fun.”
I can’t help it. I smile. Being here with himisexciting, and the thrill of what we’re about to do makes me feel jumpy in a good way. “You’re right. We’re doing this.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I’m not your girl.” But the inviting grin that invades his expression when I say it makes him magnetic. Not to mention, his face is still right up close to mine.
Desire pools inside me, making me want to lean in closer. By instinct, I blurt, “You should smile more. It looks so nice onyou.” And then I realize how that sounded. I scramble to clarify. “Not that you don’t always look nice. You’re very handsome. But your smile is…” I trail off, feeling extremely foolish. My entire face burns with embarrassment.
But he just smirks, like I handed him a basket of gold. “And here I thought you found me repulsive.”
“Very funny.”
Layla Owens, the teenage daughter of the family who owns the farm, is managing the balloon line. She signals us forward, and I notice the balloon up close for the first time. The vibrant reds and golds of its fabric stretch upward into a massive dome, contrasting with the blue afternoon sky.
I take in the basket hanging below. It’s larger than I expected, woven from thick wicker, with high edges that will probably make me feel less exposed. But still, my stomach churns at the thought of stepping inside. The faint roar of the propane burner igniting overhead sends a shiver down my spine.
It’s our turn next.
With shaky limbs, I let Bash and Layla help me into the basket of the balloon. She explains the safety protocols for riding before checking our basket and shutting us in.
The pilot is a friend of my dad’s named Mr. Gerald, and most people in town know him as the stoic, elderly man who spends his mornings ignoring society at Buttercup Bakery with a cup of black coffee and a copy ofThe Meadow Bee. Mr. Gerald gives us a nod as he tests the burner, sending a blast of heat upward. The balloon lurches slightly, and I grip the edge of the basket, my heart pounding.
Mr. Gerald turns to us. “Hello, Romilly, and hello to you, young man. I’ll be flying with you today.” He goes over some basic safety protocols before tipping his hat to us and turning back to the burner.
“I sincerely hope there are parachutes on this thing,” I mutter, and as soon as the balloon rises into the air, I let out a nervous squeal.
Bash chuckles. “You’re adorable when you’re frightened, you know.”
“Stop flirting with me.” I may sound convincing, but I can’t deny I like it. No matter what I say, I don’t want him to stop.
The ground falls away beneath us, the farm shrinking into a patchwork of pumpkins, hay bales, and cornfields. Beyond it, rolling hills stretch out into a fiery sea of autumn foliage. The air feels cooler up here, crisp and carrying the faint scent of leaves and earth. It’s breathtaking, but the growing distance between me and the ground is enough to make my knees tremble. I cling tighter to the basket’s edge, trying to focus on anything other than how far we’re climbing.
