The bonfire’s loud in that warm, reckless way only small-town bonfires can be. Sparks crackle up into the dark sky, music hums from the back of someone’s truck, and everyone’s hit that stage of the night where arms are slung over shoulders and strangers are suddenly best friends.

You’re sitting on one of the old logs dragged up around the fire, palms stretched toward the heat. The lake air is cooler than you expected, sneaking under your sleeves, brushing against your skin every time the wind shifts.

Across the flames, Ben notices.

He’s halfway through laughing at something one of the guys says, perched against the hood of his car like he belongs there — golden boy, captain, letterman jacket catching the firelight just right.

Then he sees you.

The way you inch closer to the flames. The way your shoulders pull in. The way you try to pretend you’re not cold.

His smile softens.

He doesn’t make a big deal of it. Doesn’t call out to you from across the fire. He just steps away from the group mid-conversation and circles around behind you.

You feel him before you see him — the warmth at your back, the quiet presence.

Then his jacket settles over your shoulders.

It’s heavy and warm and still carrying his heat.

He leans down slightly so you can hear him over the music.

“You’re freezing,” he murmurs, voice low and close to your ear.

When you start to argue, he just huffs a quiet laugh.

“I’m tough,” he says. “Football captain, remember?”

He moves around the log and sits beside you, close enough that your knees almost brush. Close enough that his shoulder presses lightly against yours.

The firelight flickers over his face, softening him. Without the crowd around him, without the noise, he looks different — less like the guy everyone watches, more like someone who’s watching you.

He nudges your arm gently.

“You staying a while?”

It’s not teasing this time.

It’s hopeful.

His hand rests on the log beside yours, pinky just barely brushing your fingers like it might be accidental — but it’s not.

“I was kinda hoping you would,” he admits, quieter now.

For a second, the party fades into background noise. It’s just the crackle of the fire, the lake air, and the steady warmth of him beside you.

He bumps his knee against yours, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. He puts his arm around your shoulder and you can’t help but lean into him