Elizabeth Bevarly - Monahan's Gamble

Autumn sighed restlessly. Before she realized what was happening, she found herself stretched out alongside him on a faded, flowered quilt beneath the stars, her entire body humming with anticipation at the prospect of the fireworks that were bound to explode any minute.

Fortunately, those fireworks would be literal, not figurative, because a good foot of faded, flowered quilt lay between her and Sean, and very soon, the first burst of rockets would light the sky above Marigold to open the annual Fourth of July fireworks display. Literal fireworks, Autumn repeated to herself adamantly. Not figurative ones.

At least, she thought further, reconsidering, she hoped there wouldn’t be any figurative fireworks tonight. Sean was, after all, so handsome. So charming. So eligible.

Stop it right there, Autumn, she instructed herself firmly. There would not be any figurative fireworks tonight. Or any night, for that matter. Of that—if nothing else—she was completely certain. Because if there was one thing she had learned since leaving Chicago to come to Marigold, it was how to turn fireworks into fizzle in no time flat. She hadn’t experienced any fireworks since her arrival here, not with anybody. She hadn’t even come close to the merest spark. In fact, there hadn’t been the least little smolder of anything with any man for more than two years. And by golly, Autumn had no intention of setting fire to any wicks tonight. She didn’t care if it was the Fourth of July. Sean Monahan could just keep his sparkler to himself.

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