The sun was just reaching its zenith when we met for our molotov date.

I remember wearing a pink skirt, and my girlfriend had her anarchy-A hoodie. She brought a heavy-duty backpack, too, but she hardly seemed to notice the weight.

It was a long way to the place she’d picked out, so we held hands and listened to music together as we walked. We complained about school, friends, and parents, and a few other things, I’m sure. Mostly it was just nice to talk, and the words weren’t so important.

We followed a river through the woods to the old quarry just past the edge of town. The quarry used to be a big deal, but the corporation that owned it shut it down when the limestone started to thin out. That happened before I was even born, so it was a pretty secluded spot, perfect for what we were planning.

The date had been her idea. At first we just planned on seeing a movie, but then she came up to me with this look in her eye and this adorable smirk on her face. How could I resist?

The quarry looked wide and misshapen from above, but from within it was just an endless wall of stone. My girlfriend took pleasure in sliding down a gravel slope, but I walked to the bottom, like a normal person.

Once we were together in the heart of the quarry she set her backpack down and started taking things out. A box of firecrackers, a lighter, a bunch of cardboard and loose paper, and three beer bottles with rags coming out of them.

She picked out the firecrackers and offered me one, but I shook my head nervously. I didn’t trust myself with them nearly as much as I trusted her.

She dragged a piece of cardboard away from us, then ran back and scooped up a few firecrackers. She lit two and threw them in one fluid motion, then punched the air when they both landed perfectly on the cardboard target. Sizzle and crackle echoed across the quarry.

I giggled at her. “Show-off.”

She grinned at me, then grabbed more. She had me choose spots in the quarry and point to them, and she’d try to get as close as possible with a live firecracker. I had fun trying to mess with her and get her to miss, but she hit all the targets I chose.

We kept at it until she ran out of firecrackers. She scoured the box for any she might have missed, but once she was sure they were gone her face lit up. Now for the real show.

She took all the cardboard and loose paper and scattered it around a point at least twenty feet away from us, probably further. When she was finally satisfied with the layout, she raced back to me and grabbed one of the beer bottles.

She gave me a wink, and then she lit the molotov and threw it. It arced through the air perfectly.

The little green bottle hit the quarry stone and erupted in red and orange, in a wave of heat and a dull roar that drowned out all other sound. Beautiful, brilliant fire exploded outward from a single point and blazed so bright it seemed to steal light from the sun itself.

I couldn’t do anything but stare at it, mouth open and eyes wide, enraptured by the flames dancing across paper and cardboard and wrapping around glorious fuel. Flickers of fire found hosts in the detritus we’d laid out, and they devoured their food to leave only char and embers.

My girlfriend smirked at me with her smug, beautiful face as I watched the last wisps of flame die down. She looked out proudly at the little inferno she’d created, then picked up the second molotov.

As she went to throw it, the bottle slipped out of her hands and fell towards the ground. I gasped in horror and put my hands to my mouth, but she caught it just before it hit the stone. I saw her snicker and realized she’d done it on purpose to mess with me.

I rolled my eyes. “Get on with it, pyro.”

She lobbed the second one, this time throwing it as hard as she could. It arced through the air and shattered against the quarry wall. Another burst of fire, this one rippling outward and vanishing to leave only glass shards and the smell of burning. It was still beautiful and spectacular, but it was less satisfying without something getting burned in the process.

She handed me the last molotov and my breath caught in my throat. I stared at her wide-eyed and mumbled something. She pressed the bottle into my hands, gave me a peck on the cheek, and said, “I believe in you.”

I swallowed nervously, nodded, and took the molotov. My gaze swept the quarry for a suitable target, but I kept coming back to the pile of scorched paper. I could see pieces of cardboard still unburnt, parts of the ground unsinged by flame. That needed to change.

I closed my eyes and just breathed, taking comfort in my girlfriend’s presence. Then I opened my eyes, reached back, and lobbed the bottle.

It wobbled and spun through the air, careening towards the pile of debris. I winced at my terrible throwing skills, but once it hit the ground the fire washed away my worries. The roaring, whispering, comforting blaze devoured every last scrap of carbon and left behind grey ash and black soot.

It was so beautiful, and I was the one who threw it. I did that. It was my fire, all mine.

I turned to my girlfriend with an ear-to-ear smile on my face, and she was smiling too. I started to laugh, but she grabbed my hand and dragged me towards the ashes.

Once we were surrounded by blackened paper and scorched cardboard, she pulled out her phone again and made me take an earbud. I was expecting another pop song, something cheery and fast like we’d listened to on the way here, but instead classical music filtered through.

I raised an eyebrow at her, but she just put a finger to her lips and took a step towards me. One arm wrapped around me and the other took my hand, and then she was leading me in a waltz across the ashen remnants of our makeshift playground.

It was an ethereal moment. Her skin glowed and her smile sparkled, and all the color in the world drained away except for her emerald eyes and the orange embers we danced around. Nothing existed but her smile, and her warmth.

In the midst of our revelry there was a crack of thunder. Overhead, dark clouds invaded the afternoon sky. A drop of rain splashed on our intertwined hands, and then it was pouring.

It took us a second to comprehend the rain, but then my girlfriend went scrambling. She ripped out her earbud, gently removed mine, then raced to scoop up her backpack and shove the lighter and her phone inside before the rain ruined them.

Then she offered me her hand and together we raced through the woods back the way we came, running to escape the rain and laughing all the while. We didn’t stop until we found a bridge to rest under, safe from the rain.

For a long moment we were just there, breathing, staring like we couldn’t believe it. The downpour made that pitter-patter noise and echoed around us like a blanket of white noise. My heart was beating so fast, but I didn’t feel stressed or tired or any of that; I felt alive.

She leaned forward and kissed me, and I kissed back, and we stayed like that till we couldn’t breathe and had to come up for air. She smelled like rain-drenched soil and scattered ash, earthy and rich. Her emerald eyes sparkled, and everything around her looked blurry, out-of-focus. Like there was no one in the world but her.

I kept smiling, I couldn’t stop, and there was this warm feeling in my chest and butterflies in my stomach.

She gave me that smirk, that arrogant, full-of-herself, adorable little cheeky grin, and she asked me, “Better than a movie?”

I kissed her again. “Definitely.”