She puffs out a breath. “Then we’ve been following each other. Around in circles.”
It hits me—we’ve both been orbiting what’s right in front of us. If I want her to stop doubting, to stop thinking she’s only reacting to me, I need to be unequivocal.
“Elsie, make no mistake. If you’re trying to convince yourself this isn’t real, then hear me now: I want you. In every way a person can want another. I’ve wanted you since you looked at me like I was both the problem and the solution. Despite every reason I shouldn’t, I still do.”
Her gasp trembles against my throat, and I don’t know if I’ll survive what comes next. Consequences be damned, I kiss her again.
Her lips part, and I take, tongue sliding against hers. She makes that startled little sound, and I cradle the back of her neck, thumb grazing the soft heat at her pulse. She tilts up, deepening it. It’s teeth, breath, hunger. Messy and perfect.
When we break, it’s only for air, gasps fogging between us, before I dive back in.
Twice isn’t close to enough.
“Well, well,” a voice drawls through the snowfall. “If this is what passes for committee prep, I’ve been doing it wrong.”
Elsie jerks back. I laugh, though I’d cheerfully throttle Bobby with his own scarf right about now.
He tips his cap. “Hope you two get all the kissing done before tonight’s meeting. I don’t mind, but the doctor might.”
I snort. “Alma would take notes.”
“You’d be shocked what Dr. Torres got up to in her heyday.”
“Bobby.” Elsie winces.
He winks and ducks back into Brindle & Sons. The bell jingles, door shuts, and the moment scatters like snow.
Elsie flushes. “God, I hope the mayor can keep some things to himself.”
I lift a brow. “Why? You embarrassed of me,sugarplum?”
“Not at all. It’s just ... complicated.”
She doesn’t elaborate, but I don’t need her to. I see it all over her face—that tight little furrow between her brows, the way she shifts like she’s already bracing for judgment.
If the whole town found out, they’d have a field day. She’s the girl who came back and stirred up trouble. The one who might still leave. If we were seen kissing in a window, she wouldn’t just be walking away from a house—she’d be casting off the town, casting off me.
Whatever’s growing between us feels fragile enough as it is. Add too many eyes and it might split right down the middle.
“I get it,” I say—because I do. It’s complicated, imperfect, confusing. But wanting her isn’t. That part’s simple.
She turns toward the shop window. “I should’ve bought more pastries for the meeting. I forgot it was even happening tonight.”
I smirk. “You don’t want to serve your world-class scones again?”
She smacks my arm. “Shut up.”
And just like that, we’re walking again—snow crunching, shoulders brushing, headed back toward Haven & Hearth. It’s easy—too easy—to slip from teasing to heat, from friction to wanting and back again. I don’t know what to do with that kind of gravity.
Maybe that kiss will melt like everything else in this town, gone without a trace. The problem is, I’ve never wanted something to stay so badly.
The parlor is exceptionallyclean tonight. Fire steady in the hearth, chairs pulled into a neat circle, coffee steaming in mismatched mugs.
Alma’s already got her stack of folders arranged in order from historical documentation to legal appendices.
Bobby’s poured half the thermos into his mug and is still eyeing the other half like he means to finish it before we adjourn. Jack’s slouched near the window, one boot braced on the rung of his chair, the picture of a man who’d rather be anywhere else.
And Elsie—she’s across from me, clipboard balanced on her knee, hair tucked up under one of Elspeth’s old scarves. She looks collected, calm even, but I know that expression. It’s the one she wears when she’s trying to hold herself together.
