Sidecar Crush

Jameson smiled back. I loved his smile; his whole face lit up. When we’d come up out of the water after jumping in the lake earlier, I’d wished I had a camera to capture the moment. His smile was amazing.

“I reckon I do know.” Jameson turned to me. “Come on. This’ll be fun.”

He got up and offered me a hand to help me stand. I only tipped a little bit, but he held onto my arms until I was sure of my feet.

“You sure you’re all right?” Jameson asked.

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. The fresh air was tinged with the scent of explosives and smoke. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” he said, patting me on the shoulder.

He was such a gentleman. Old-fashioned, in some ways. Although that was probably from growing up in Bootleg Springs. The men here were like that. They held doors open and pulled out chairs. Put their jackets on the shoulders of chilly ladies.

I followed Jameson and Gibson down the beach. Past groups of people cooking food over fires, lighting sparklers, laughing and drinking. The mood was festive and fun. In a way, I was glad Kelvin wasn’t here. He’d probably be complaining about the noise.

Jameson’s arm brushed against mine as we walked, and I had the silliest urge to hold his hand. It made my cheeks warm and I was glad for the cover of darkness. I had no business blushing over thoughts of hand-holding with Jameson Bodine. I wasn’t a little girl anymore. And I wasn’t single. I was just a bit tipsy, and in the best mood I’d been in for quite a while. I wouldn’t ruin it by making things awkward.

We kept going, and the knots of people thinned out. The darkness thickened, but neither Jameson nor Gibson pulled out a light. I started to worry I might trip over something in the dark. But just as I was about to ask how much farther we were going to walk, Gibson stopped.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, he dropped the bag. “We need to get this done quick.”

“I know,” Jameson said. “Where are we setting it off?”

Gibson grinned again and dragged something out from under a nearby bush. “I made a raft.”

A big firework burst overhead, lighting up Jameson’s face. His eyes shone with mischief as he grinned back at his brother. “Perfect.”

Jameson started pulling things out of the bag. It was mostly sparklers and a few rolls of electrical tape.

“Sparklers?” I asked. “I thought you had some big fireworks or something.”

“You don’t know about sparkler bombs?” Jameson asked.

“Did you just say bomb?”

Jameson grinned at me. “You pack these in real tight, tape them secure, and add a fuse. It’s loud when it goes off.”

“That seems dangerous,” I said.

“Yeah, if you’re stupid,” Jameson said with a shrug. “You have to make sure the fuse is long enough. Plus, we’ll send it out on Gibson’s little raft, there. That’s gonna make a column of water forty feet high.”

Gibson chuckled while he helped Jameson open the packages.

“Here,” Jameson said and handed me the sparklers.

I held the handles while he bunched them up and started winding electrical tape around the bundle.

“Perfect,” he said as he wound the tape around. “The trick to these is getting the tape nice and tight. Well, that and not getting caught.”

“Hasn’t happened yet,” Gibson said.

“Don’t jinx it, man,” Jameson said. “Last year Judge Carwell almost saw us.”

More fireworks went off over the lake—pops and bangs followed by cheers, whoops, and hollers.

“You want to do a little bit of it?” Jameson asked.

“Sure,” I said.

He took the mostly-taped bundle of sparklers and I finished winding the tape around up to the top. He’d left a fuse sticking out of the middle. Gibson watched as we finished.

“Looks good,” Gibson said. “That’s gonna be a loud one.”

“Sure will,” Jameson said. “Let’s get her launched.”

Gibson’s raft was made of small planks of wood. He put it in the water and held it while Jameson set the sparkler contraption on top.

“This is nice,” Jameson said. “I almost hate to blow it up.”