"Yeah." Hog pulled me to a stop at the harbor overlook—the spot tourists photographed in summer and locals avoided in winter because the wind was so vicious. "Can I kiss you?"
My heart skipped. "You're asking permission?"
"Seemed polite."
I pulled him closer by our joined hands. "Yeah. You can."
He leaned down and kissed me. Slow, deliberate, testing. His free hand came up to cup my jaw, and he was shaking.
I fisted his jacket, pulled him closer, and kissed him harder. He tasted like coffee, mint, and winter air. Hog made a sound—half-gasp and half-groan—when I bit his bottom lip.
When we broke apart, both breathing hard, I kept my grip on his jacket. Could feel the solid warmth of him even through the layers.
"Was that okay?" His voice was raspy.
"Twice as good as that." I kissed him again, briefer. "But we're definitely being watched."
He glanced around. Curtain twitching across the street. A car slowing down to a crawl on the street. "Good," he said, and kissed me again.
We stood there freezing our asses off, kissing like we'd just figured out how. When we finally pulled apart for real, my face was raw from the cold, and his scratchy beard made my lips swell.
"I should get back," he said reluctantly. "Team meeting this evening. Coach'll murder me if I'm late. Probably make me run suicides until I puke."
"Youth practice at seven."
"Mika's group?"
"You know Mika?"
"She talks about you constantly." He did a perfect impression of a ten-year-old girl—high voice, earnest enthusiasm. "'Coach Rhett says my crossovers are getting better.' The kid's got a huge crush on you."
"She's ten."
"And she's got taste." He paused. "Can I see you again? Soon?"
"Yes—you'll call?"
"Of course."
"And take Herbert with you."
"Herbert?"
Hog pulled the green pig from his pocket. "That's his name. Margaret got me hooked on period dramas. There's a whole family. Herbert, Reginald, Percival—"
I laughed—couldn't help it. Thunder Bay's enforcer naming tiny knitted pigs afterDownton Abbeycharacters was so perfectly him.
"Don't laugh. It's a serious naming system."
"I'm sure it is." I tucked Herbert into my pocket. "Thank you. For showing me this."
"A three-inch pig?"
"The part most people don't see."
We walked back more slowly, neither of us in a hurry. At my truck, Hog hesitated.
"Thanks. For the window table. For—everything."
