“This time of the year is usually too dangerous to do a fire, but the wetter-than-normal start to fall has brought us a little gift. Still, I like to be safe. Fire is a very real danger out here. All we need is a few dry logs and we’re in business. Here, sit.” He gestured to the camp chair he’d set on an even spot. Then he went over to the lean-to and brought back a few logs.

Zeke had changed into a pair of jeans and a soft Henley shirt that was the color of his eyes. He heaved the logs onto the rusted round pit, tossed a few leaves at the base, and used a lighter to ignite the leaves. The leaves caught fire, curling into themselves, their crackling carcasses launching up into the cooling air. Chase settled in the chair, mesmerized by the orange flames dancing against the bark. The pop and crackle of the logs catching brought satisfaction. Smoke wafted up to the canopy above them to dance with the brilliant stars.

This was the stuff of commercials and glossy photo ads. And for a moment, it belonged to Chase.

Zeke nodded at the fire’s progress and settled into the chair next to her. He leaned over and pulled a bottle of wine from the depths of his basket.

“Zeke, I can’t—”

“It’s sparkling grape. I found it in the fridge from when my sister visited with her twin girls. She and I drink wine, and those two divas love to swill their own ‘wine’ in fancy glasses.” Zeke pulled out two pink plastic wineglasses.

Chase smiled at the thought of Zeke buying fizzy grape juice and pink goblets. Again, this guy was too good for someone like her. “You thought of everything.” She took the glasses while he opened the sparkling juice.

He poured them each half a glass and then pulled out a Bluetooth speaker. The plaintive sound of jazz music spilled out, somehow sounding exactly right for contemplating a fire and swigging sparkling grape juice with a rugged fisherman who made her sink into herself and like who she was when she was with him.

Exactly so.

For a few minutes, neither said a word. After a song or two, Zeke reached over and took her hand. His big thumbs rubbed over her blisters.

“I saw you got these earlier. Hands this pretty shouldn’t have blisters,” he said, staring down at where her hand was cradled in his.

“I’m kind of digging them. Like a badge of honor, like something that says I’m not completely worthless as a human being,” she joked.

Zeke looked at her, his smile soft. He lifted her hand and brushed her palm with his lips. “You’re so hard on yourself.”

His beard was soft and his lips ever so gentle, but it was the disbelief in his words that turned her into a puddle of . . . something.