I barely heard them. I was too busy staring at Rhett, holding my hand like he didn't want to let go.
I realized I'd never been kissed like that before. Like I was someone worth crossing a room for. And maybe, I was someone worth keeping.
Chapter two
Rhett
Iwoke up with the memory of my own courage burning in my chest.
The pale winter light leaking through frost-edged windows was sharper, more alive than usual. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, replaying the moment I'd walked across The Drop's crowded floor and asked Hog Hawkins to dance.
Dance? One word. Simple as breathing, terrifying as peering over a cliff edge.
I couldn't forget the fit of our hands, or his eyes opened wide, when I stepped up to his table. It left Thunder Bay's loudest export speechless.
Normally, I would've recoiled at the chaos—his teammates whooping, the countdown clock screaming toward midnight, and half the bar watching us stumble toward the dance floor. Instead, I realized it was the first time in years I'd reached out for what I wanted.
The kiss had lasted maybe thirty seconds. Long enough to realize that Hog—all six-foot-three of Thunder Bay's most notorious enforcer—had gone perfectly still under my hands.
When we kissed, I tasted beer and something sweeter underneath. My brain registered every detail: his fingers tangling in my flannel shirt and thequiet whimperhe didn't bother to hide when I whispered "Happy New Year" against his mouth.
The contrast had made my head spin—all that size and strength going perfectly still around me. Men who looked like they could break things but chose not to were always attractive to me. With Hog, I wasn't sure which side I was getting.
I'd spent the last three weeks thinking about him. Ever since that night when I'd watched him hold court with his teammates, loud and magnetic and impossible to ignore. Most guys that size use their presence like a weapon, but Hog wielded his like a gift—drawing people in, making them feel seen.
When I'd bought him a drink, he'd gone quiet. Not uncomfortably so—almost thoughtful. He listened instead of merely waiting for his turn to talk.
Most people, when they looked at me, saw exactly what I'd trained them to see: steady, reliable, uncomplicated—the local contractor who showed up on time and fixed broken things without drama.
Hog had looked at me like he was trying to figure out a puzzle, and I wanted to be solved.
My phone sat on the nightstand. I should text him. The question wasn't whether I wanted to—the question was whether I had the same courage in daylight that I'd found in that crowded bar.
Last night had ended with me walking him to his Prius in the snow, both of us suddenly awkward when we didn't have an audience or a countdown clock forcing the moment. "This was..." he'd started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah," I'd agreed, because I didn't have words either.
Eight hours later, my thumb hovered over the phone. My heart pounded like I was sixteen instead of thirty-two. When had I become someone who needed to talk himself into wanting something?
The answer sat heavy in my chest. It had been since I'd learned that wanting things—college in Toronto, a life outside Thunder Bay, anything beyond the expected—only led to disappointment. My parents had made sure of that, framing my dreams as selfish, impractical, and naive. It was easier to accept what was offered than to risk reaching for more.
The radiator hissed in the corner. I scrolled through my contacts until I found it. I'd added him last night at the side of his car, fingers shaking from cold while he'd rattled off his number like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"In case you want to argue about wood stain colors again," he'd said, grinning that ridiculous grin that made his whole face light up.
Now, staring at his name on my screen, I typed out a message.
Rhett:Coffee?
One word. Simple. Safe.
I stared at it, thumb hovering over send, then deleted it.
The voices started up.Keep it simple. Don't make this bigger than it was. He was drunk, you were drunk, it was New Year's Eve. People do stupid things on New Year's Eve.
It only took a beat to realize the words were bullshit. Hog hadn't been drunk enough to miss the way I'd looked at him when I'd crossed that room. And I sure as hell hadn't been drunk enough to miss his acceptance when I asked him to dance.
Just forget it happened.
Forgetting was the biggest waste I could imagine.
