Winter Fire (Book I of the Winter Fire Series)

Saturday had been the best day of my life, and Sunday was the slowest. My mother wasn’t happy that I’d spent an entire day and night with Bren, but it had only been eight-thirty when I came in, and I’d told her the truth - some of it - so she backed off a little. I promised to spend all of Sunday catching up on homework and what she ambiguously called “down time.”

  I had been up until almost four o’clock, playing everything in my head over and over…the morning at the terrain park, the argument with Bren on the bridge, the crazy ride to Ringsaker, his voice…his kiss…his heartbeat. When I finally fell asleep, it was a restless tangle of hours that left me breathless and edgy in the morning, the sunsplashed Sunday stretching out ahead of me like an endless parade of seconds.

  I spent the morning at a picnic table on the deck, hunched over an open History book while I thought about the feel of Bren’s t-shirt under my hands. During the afternoon, I draped myself over the couch and stared out the big picture window in our suite, waiting for dark. As I gazed at the copse of evergreens beyond the bonfire site, I tasted wintergreen, realized it was my toothpaste, and remembered that I hadn’t eaten, so I texted my mother to ask what she wanted to do for dinner. She came up to the suite and made us tacos. I was distracted for a moment, laughing while she talked about a funny older couple who had checked in that morning, but as she shook the chili powder into the frying pan I was reminded of Bren’s hair, and my smile turned hollow. I may have made fun of myself for it - chili powder, really? - but my mother’s mere presence made me feel self-conscious, as if she could hear my thoughts. I was still surprised though, when she looked up from the stove and reached out to squeeze my shoulder.

  “I guess I wasn’t ready for this, Jen.” Her voice was kind, and a little sad.

  “What?” I gave her a blank look.

  She smiled. “For the way you feel about this boy. Bren.”

  “I…” I didn’t know what to say. It felt too personal to talk about now, too raw. She let her arm drop but kept the smile.

  “We’re going to have to talk about this.” She poked at the ground beef with her wooden spoon. “You’re not a kid anymore, and I know I can’t make all of your decisions for you. But I have to know that you’re going to put yourself first. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I do.” I felt my cheeks flush. I knew she was going to want to talk to me about all of it…emotions, birth control, sex…but I just didn’t want to do it tonight. And not over tacos. They were my favorite, and I wanted to be able to stomach them in the future.

  “Not tonight, though, okay?” I begged her with my eyes.

  She stared at me for a long moment. "Okay. But soon.”

  I let out a sigh of relief as she banged the spoon on the side of the pan and then lifted it between us. “But tonight, it’s you, me, and tacos.”

  After she went back down to the lobby, I spent the evening staring out the window at the tiny fire that had sparked to life way up on the mountain, my breath fogging and defogging a small circle of glass. It settled something in me to know Bren was there, made me feel connected to him somehow, and I found I couldn’t turn away to go to bed. My mother woke me at two-thirty. When I glanced out into the darkness and saw that the fire no longer flickered on the hill, I allowed her to guide me to my room to fall into another restless sleep.

  Chapter 17