"I didn't get you a pie. I made you a pie."

Her eyes were dancing in the low light, and he could see the golden highlights in her hair. Forget the damn pie. He wanted to taste her.

Whoa there, Colton. Friends, friends, friends, he repeated to himself. What had happened to all that animosity between them? The desire to tease her, to make her blush? To keep her at a distance, which was what all that bickering had done. Now he found he did want to make her blush. But for a completely different reason.

"Did you celebrate today?" she asked.

"Carmen made cupcakes. I'll have dinner with Cookie and Hannah this weekend."

She patted the swing beside her and he took her up on the invitation, staking out a spot on the other side of Rocket, who sniffed him discerningly, then leaned back against Sara. His uniform grazed her leg, and his gun banged awkwardly against the swing.

"Better hurry and wish before it fizzles," she said, gesturing to the candle, which really did seem to be on its way to flickering out.

Oh, he wished all right, while she did a speedy rendition of Happy Birthday. She couldn't hold a tune to save her life but he loved it just the same. Then he blew out the candle.

As it sat there smoldering, a thin wisp of smoke curling elegantly into the wooden slats of the porch ceiling. Sara jumped up. "Do you like warm pie? I'm going to nuke some pieces and put ice cream on them, is that okay? I've been waiting for this all ni—"

Before he knew what he was doing he reached up for her arm, tugged her back down beside him and planted his lips on hers. Then he curled his hand around her neck and pulled her in deeper.