Once Upon a Campfire (Meet Cute Romance 6)

“Want to dance, Audrey?”

A refusal was on the tip of her tongue, but the music shifted into something less energetic. Something by Jack Johnson. Not a slow song, exactly, but something she could get away with not bouncing around to. Number thirty-seven on her list was Attend a school dance. This was probably as close as she’d ever get. She worked up a smile. “Sure.”

Brad knew how to dance. That much was obvious when she put her hand in his and followed him out onto the floor. His grip on her was light but sure. Audrey forced herself to relax and follow his lead.

“First time at Camp Firefly Falls?” he asked.

“What gave me away?”

“The way you’re watching everybody, like you’re not quite sure what to do.”

Audrey tried not to take offense at that since it was true. “I expected something a little more low-key tonight.”

“Kumbaya and s’mores?”

Number fifty-four: Roast marshmallows over a real campfire to make authentic s’mores. That had to be better than roasting them over the burner of the gas range in her apartment.

“Well, I did have my heart set on s’mores.”

“They have a campfire for that purpose every night, so if that’s what your heart desires, we can absolutely make that happen.” He flashed a too-practiced smile.

Was he flirting with her? Or just being friendly? This was one of those areas of human behavior she’d never felt comfortable assessing with any kind of accuracy. Uncertain, she gave a half smile and continued to watch the people around them. Probably it was rude not to maintain eye contact, but that felt too intimate. She didn’t know what to say to this guy.

Brad’s grip shifted. Before she could ask what that was about, he was whipping her out into a spin. At least, that’s what she assumed he was trying to do. Her legs couldn’t keep up, crossing over themselves like a pretzel, making her stumble. Pain shot up from her ankles, through her knees. Shock and an instant panic kept her from crying out. But his quick reflexes kept her from falling or from crashing into the couples dancing nearby.

“Whoops. Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Audrey held onto him, not because she wanted to but because without his support, she was pretty sure she’d drop like a stone.

“Audrey, you okay?” The concern in his voice told her she hadn’t managed to hide the wince.

“I think I twisted my ankle.” She hadn’t, but it was the easiest explanation that would get her off the dance floor.

“Crap, I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.” He led her over to a row of chairs near the bar. “Should I find the camp doctor?”

She waved him off. “No need. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to sit here a bit. You go on and keep dancing.”

“You’re sure I can’t do anything?”

He looked so distressed at the idea that he’d ruined her evening, she relented. “Grab me a glass of wine?”

“I can do that. What kind?”

“Anything red.”

He brought her a glass of merlot and, after much urging, returned to the dancing. Audrey let out a long, controlled breath, imagining the pain leaving with the exhale. Sometimes that worked. Sometimes it didn’t. She’d have a date later with some muscle rub and the cold packs she’d shoved into the freezer of their mini fridge on arrival. She took a sip of her drink and relaxed in the chair. At least the wine was excellent.

Someone stepped up to the bar behind her. “Beer.”

Audrey cocked her head at the word, not knowing why.

“What kind?” Michael reeled off several types.

“The IPA.” There was something about that voice. It was deep, the kind of resonant timbre that soaked into your skin.

Come on. Say more than two words.

She heard ice shifting as Michael dug through the cooler. “You settling in okay? Got everything you need?”