Manny Ruiz is 62, retired air show pyrotechnics coordinator, spends most days tinkering with vintage model rockets in his garage and growing heirloom tomatoes in his side yard. His worst flaw is he bails before anyone can reject him, a habit he picked up after a misaligned timing fuse he signed off on sent a firework 30 feet off course 12 years back, burning a stunt pilot’s arm so bad she never flew again. He’s carried that caution like a lead vest ever since, even with small, harmless things, like asking the pretty neighbor out for coffee.
The summer block party is sweltering, the kind of humid Pacific Northwest heat that sticks your t-shirt to your ribs before you’ve even finished your first beer. Manny’s manning the community grill, slathering his secret chipotle rub on burger patties, avoiding the side of the picnic area where he knows Lena Marquez is set up selling potted succulents for the local animal shelter fundraiser. He’d caught a glimpse of her through her kitchen window three nights prior, pulling a sun dress over her head after a day working in her nursery, and he’d bailed before he could even knock with the bag of ripe tomatoes he’d brought over, convinced he’d crossed a line she’d never forgive.
He’s flipping a batch of extra-charred dogs when he smells it first: jasmine lotion mixed with citronella, the scent he’s come to associate with warm evenings on his porch when she’s out watering her front yard roses. He looks up and she’s right there, leaning on the edge of the folding grill table, sun hitting the silver streaks in her dark hair, linen sundress sticking a little to the curve of her hip. She’s not mad. She’s grinning, the kind of half-teasing smile that makes his chest feel tight.
Manny’s throat goes dry. He’s spent 12 years overcorrecting for every possible mistake, pre-emptively apologizing for things he hasn’t even done, and here she is, telling him she wanted him to look. He wants to make an excuse, say he’s got a rocket build waiting for him at home, slip away before he can mess this up too, but she doesn’t let him. She nods toward the oak tree at the edge of the park, where the string lights don’t reach and the fireflies are blinking low, and he follows her without thinking.
The grass is cool under his work boots when they step off the pavement, the sound of the party fading just enough that he can hear the crickets chirping. She leans back against the tree trunk, takes a bite of her burger, and wipes a smudge of barbecue sauce off her chin with the back of her hand. “I know you’re careful,” she says, soft, like she’s been paying attention, like she noticed the way he always checks the sidewalk twice before he crosses, the way he double checks the lock on his garage door every night, the way he never stays at a gathering longer than two hours if he can help it. “I’m not gonna break if you make a move. You don’t have to be scared of blowing this up.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second, just looks at her, the way the distant string lights catch the gold flecks in her eyes, the way her dress rides up a little on her calf where she’s crossed her legs. He steps closer, close enough that he can smell the cherry seltzer on her breath, and when he reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair off her face, she doesn’t flinch. She leans into his touch, and when she kisses him, her hand comes up to the back of his neck, her calloused thumb brushing the thin scar he has there from an old pyrotechnics accident. She tastes like barbecue sauce and mint gum, and for the first time in 12 years, he doesn’t feel the urge to run when things feel good.
The first boom of the town’s end-of-night fireworks goes off behind them, painting the sky pink and orange, and Manny doesn’t even jump, the way he usually does when sudden loud noises hit, too focused on the way her fingers fit between his when she laces their hands together. They don’t go back to the party. They walk down the sidewalk toward her house, slow, her shoulder pressed to his the whole way, and when she unlocks her front door and pulls him inside, he doesn’t hesitate to step over the threshold.
