Page 41 of Fire Dancer
“Now, wait a second there, son.” My father stopped him. “You can’t leave before the party starts!”
I shot my dad a pained look and made a chopping motion with my arms.
“Um…” Ingo stalled.
“Ingo has a lot of work,” I threw in. “He’sverydedicated to his job.”
“All the more reason for him to take a little time off. You know what they say about all work and no play.”
Usually, I would be on board with that plan. But I’d just spent two hours with Ingo and barely managed to keep my hands off him. (The kiss didn’t count. He started it.) Spending an evening under the stars together would be way too much like old times.
“Also, it’s a conflict of interest,” I tried. “With his line of work and everything.”
My dad cackled and smacked him on the shoulder. “Nah. You’ll keep this off the books, right, kid? You’re family.”
“Thanks, but…” Ingo started.
“You can’t go now,” Erin admonished.
I glared at my sister. Of course he could.
But he didn’t.
And so it was that I found myself running around with firewood, sausages, drinks — everything a girl needed for an evening around a bonfire with her crazy familyandher ex-lover.
Chapter Ten
PIPPA
“And then he said, ‘How long have you two been together?’” Erin’s father hooted as he delivered the punch line to his story.
We’d been around the bonfire for several hours by then, all full from a delicious dinner, and Mike was telling us about the time he and my dad had taken Claire to town for ice cream. A friendly cashier, hearing them go by Grandpa and Grandpa, had assumed they were a couple.
“I just about died,” my dad admitted.
Mike leaned over and planted a loud smooch on his cheek. “Happy couple. That’s us, baby.”
My dad rolled his eyes. “One inch closer and you’re toast, buddy.”
Ah, pyromancer humor.
“I mean, really,” my dad huffed. “I would have much better taste than this yo-yo.”
Mike hit back with weathermonger humor — making play-thunder rumble in the distance.
I stood, clearing the last of the barbecue utensils away. “Marshmallows, anyone?”
“Me! Me!” Claire hopped up and down. “And then story time!”
Bonfire story time was a tradition handed down from my dad’s side of the family. A tradition he continued when he visited Arizona — ostensibly for Claire, but really, for all of us.
My dad rubbed his hands eagerly. “Definitely story time. Right after those marshmallows.”
The timing was perfect, because the sun was setting, and by the time we finished marshmallows, stars dotted the spring sky. Mike looked up, then shot a smug glance at Nash.
Most of us were in jackets or wrapped in blankets by then, though the fire kept us warm.
Ingo, who knew what to expect, gestured for Nash to scooch back.