Eight
Owen tossed another cedar log on the fire and watched the sparks explode and dance into the sky. The fragrant smoke curled around him, a welcome and relaxing scent that brought memories of dozens of other solstice fires. As the sun sank closer to the horizon, more bonfires sprang up across the beach and music drifted to him on the breeze, accompanied by the ceaseless rhythm of the ocean. The tide was high but turning, and Owen anticipated racing across the damp sand with his party over the coming hours. Nearby, his sister and mother helped Andra’s beau, Red, prep their dinner—steaks, shrimp, potatoes, and corn to be cooked over the fire and accompanied by a fresh green salad.
Hope and Daphne hadn’t arrived yet, and he glanced over his shoulder toward the northern parking area. They
