We both startle as loud popping sounds begin to go off outside, jolting apart as I try to place them. “Fireworks,” I say after a beat. “I’d better go check on them before Dad blows a hand off.” Ezra is still smiling that shit-eating grin, and I shoot him a wary look. “What?” “You and I make sparks fly,” he says, looking proud of himself. I groan. “That was awful.” “You’ll laugh about it later.”
