Reginald barking pops the bubble we both just found ourselves in. We step away from each other, and Griffin walks to the passenger side door to let him out of the truck.
I lean down, willing him to run to me, and his short little legs hustle him over. He rests his paws on my thigh and presses his face into mine to lick my cheek before scurrying around to smell the new space.
“Stay,” I order Reginald.
“He won’t run off, will he?” Griffin asks, concerned.
I shake my head. “No. Even though this is a new area for him, he never goes far from me. He knows not to wander.”
“Good,” he says before patting the bed of the truck. “Hop on up. The show is going to start any minute.”
In the least graceful way possible, I climb into the truck bed and Griffin hoists Reginald up to sit up there with us.
He was right in telling me to dress warmly. The night air mixed with the breeze from the lake sends a shiver through my body. I look down at my dog and even he shakes where he sits. He jumps right off the back of the truck, and my eyes widen because it’s a steep drop for his little corgi legs.
Leaning over the side of the truck, I sit up on my knees and watch where he’s heading. And the little shit sits right by the truck door, looking from me to Griffin for someone to let him in the warm cab.
I let out a laugh.
“He wants to sit in there when all of this is out here?” Griffin eyes him curiously.
“He’s not a normal dog,” I reply, with a giggle.
“I can see that.” Griffin opens the truck door and Reginald’s tail goes wild before Griffin picks him up and places him on the bench. I move to look through the back window and watch him curl himself into a ball right where he was for the drive.
“Maybe we should have left him home,” I tell Griffin, following his movements as he closes the door before rounding the truck and joining me in the blanket mess he laid out for us.
“He’s fine.”
Griffin props a few pillows up and settles himself with his back against them and his legs stretched out in front of him. With blankets layered under us, I crawl next to him. He lifts an arm, allowing me to curl into his side. The warmth of his body—even through the clothing—would be enough to get me through anything if I was stranded out here with him.
A loud bang echoes in the distance, forcing my palm to land on his thigh before looking out over the lake and into the wide-open space where fireworks light up the sky. His arm draped over my shoulders gives me a light squeeze.
I watch as colors dance with the stars.
A loud, beautiful display reflecting on the glass-like water.
He’s right, this is the perfect spot.
I sit up taller, unable to even look away for a second. Thefireworks throw random shapes in the sky. Cascading willows, comets, and rings spread across the mountains. Not just in one particular section, but everywhere. As if people are sitting on different mountains setting them off to create this show just for us.
“This is…wow,” I say, but I can't turn away from them. “I know you all said this is the best show of fireworks in the country, but I was skeptical. Because fireworks are fireworks. It can’t bethatdifferent, but this…it’s amazing. It’s beautiful.”
Griffin doesn’t respond. After a moment, I finally turn to face him and he’s already looking at me. Wonder in his features, and his signature smile all over his face. If that’s even what I should call it. It’s new to me. It’s new to him.
The bang continues to echo in the distance, and the light in the sky reflects off his eyes. I sit up on my knees in front of him, taking his face in my hands before I straddle my legs over his thick thighs, refusing to sit down completely because I don’t want to take this further if he’s not ready.
“Blair,” he says on an exhale, so low I almost miss it.
My name coming off his lips like a plea.
Begging me for more.
Slowly I lean in. Letting my lips graze his, and I feel the sharp intake of his breath. I press my lips to the corner of his before grazing back to the middle.
“I want you,” I whisper.
His one hand grips my thigh, holding me in place, while the other comes up, brushing a strand of hair out of my face before tangling his fingers through the hair at the back of my head.
