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You always forget how quickly the temperature plummets in October. One moment you’re sweltering in long sleeves, the next you’re shrinking into yourself in a vain quest for warmth, chilled by the rapidly setting sun and the wind howling through skeletal tree branches. There’s only a thin streak of blazing orange sunlight left, struggling to hold the line between the horizon and a spreading twilight sky. A few stars sparkle against the blue-black night, and a crescent moon hangs low and sharp near the treeline.
Shifting closer to the bonfire helps a bit. You try to ignore the chill, to dive back into the flow of conversation. Santi’d invited you, technically, but it had been on the group thread with him, the Millers, and Frankie, all of whom had chimed in with encouragement or invitations of their own.
They’re heading out in the morning for some job or another, going uncharacteristically silent when you ask for any details. The most you’ve gotten out of them is a vague “out of the country,” and you’ve given up trying to dig further. You try to remind yourself that it’s none of your business, not really, but it stings a bit, being left out in the cold like that, and you can’t help but wonder if the five of you are as close as you used to think.
“Hey, you ok?”
The softly spoken question takes you by surprise, cutting quietly through the boys’ chatter and your own thoughts. You turn to meet Frankie’s eyes, his brow creased with concern, his chestnut brown eyes soft and bright in the firelight. He’s sitting on a log near your own, messy curls stuffed under a Standard Oil baseball cap, his broad shoulders seeming even larger beneath a brown jacket lined with shearling wool. Between that and the flannel he’s wearing underneath, he’s the picture of autumn coziness and the part of you that’s been crushing on him longs to crawl into those strong arms and burrow down for as long as he’ll have you.
“Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m good. Just a little chilled.”
Frankie shrugs off his coat and offers it to you. “Here, take my jacket.” He says it so easily, the same way he’d invite you to have a seat beside him or grab one of the many drinks sitting in a cooler nearby, like taking care of you is second nature to him.
Your cheeks heat, having nothing to do with either the sharp, seeking wind or the fire’s warmth. “That’s ok, it’s my own fault for just wearing a thin sweater, you shouldn’t have to-”
But he’s already moving, draping the jacket around your hunched shoulders, his warmth radiating through you, soothing and thrilling at once. Your shoulders relax in instant relief as you push your arms through the too long sleeves, the cuffs falling past your knuckles. The coat envelops you completely, the plush wool grazing your cheeks, its weight a comforting barrier between you and the falling dark.
“Better?”
You smile, a little sheepishly up at him, and indulge in lazy stretch, your tense muscles easing as his body heat engulfs you. “Much. Here, at least sit next to me so you don’t get cold.”
Frankie’s shy smile warms you even further and he sits next to you. The log is too narrow for both of you to sit comfortably but before you can open your mouth to say so he lifts you onto his lap, his arms circling your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder. “Is this ok?”
Is it ok? Your heart is pounding like a drum beneath your ribs, every nerve ending suddenly alert as your breath catches in your lungs. You nod, saying “oh yeah this is great. Fine. It’s fine, I guess. Is it ok with you?” You bite your tongue, embarrassment rolling through you. It is fine, you tell yourself, no big deal. He would probably do this for anyone, right?
Well, maybe not anyone.
Ok, maybe Santi.
Frankie’s chuckle rumbles through both of you, low and reassuring as distant thunder. “Yeah, it’s ok with me.”
You relax in his hold, adjusting to the feeling of being surrounded by the man you’ve been falling for. It gets easier as the night goes on, as glass bottles are passed hand to hand, stories shared and jokes told. It almost feels normal by the time the fire has burned down to its last glowing embers. The stars glitter sharply now against the cold night sky, the moon high overhead and ghostly pale. One by one, your friends drift from the fireside until only you and Frankie remain, talking softly as the fire burns to ash, as if neither of you are willing to break the spell of this one, perfect night.
Finally, the last gleaming sparks flare out. Frankie sighs and opens his arms. You wonder if his muscles are stiff, having held you in the same position for hours, seemingly reluctant to let you go. Turning your head, you press an impulsive kiss to the bare spot in his patchy beard, exactly where you’ve longed to kiss him for ages now.
Smiling, Frankie asks “what was that for?”
“For tonight. For keeping me warm.” It’s enough, for now.
Frankie walks you along a dark, winding forest path, back to your car parked alongside his pickup in a gravel lot. You start to peel off his jacket but he stops you with a shake of his head. “Keep it for the ride home. It’ll give me an excuse to come visit, once we’re back.”
Your heart begins to pound once more. After a night of half truths, you decide you both deserve a little more clarity, so you decide to put yourself out there. “You don’t need an excuse to come see me, you know. But yes, come find me when you’re home. We can… go to dinner?”
Your courage fails a bit at the end, but if Frankie notices, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans in for a kiss. It’s sweet and (mostly) chaste, though there is the barest hint of the depths of your shared longing, the promise of more to come.
“It’s a date.”