“Tomorrow has to go right,” I said, barely above a whisper.
“It won’t,” he said. “But you’ll make it look perfect.”
I laughed because if I didn’t, something else might crack. “That’s supposed to be comforting?”
“It’s supposed to be true.”
I turned to tell him thank you, or good night, or nothing at all—and found him closer than I meant for him to be. Close enough the light caught the scar at his temple and the rough stubble along his jaw, close enough I could see the blue ring around his dark irises. His eyes didn’t look like the sky tonight. They looked like the lake right before it froze over—deep, unreadable, waiting to swallow anyone who stepped wrong.
“Hayes…” My voice snagged on his name. “We can’t?—”
“We can,” he said. “We just shouldn’t.”
“Because of Stetson. Because of Alaska. Because if I mess this up, everyone will remember it forever.”
“Yes,” he said. “And because you deserve to get this to the finish line without a man becoming the story.”
“You’re very confident about what my head is doing.”
“I’m very familiar with the sound of mine when it starts lying,” he said. “I can hear it in other people’s.”
“Is yours lying right now?”
“Constantly.”
We were too close but still not close enough. I should’ve stepped back. I didn’t.
“This is a terrible idea,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“We have rules.”
“We do.”
“And we’re going to follow them.”
“Sure,” he said. Then he kissed me.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even careful. It was inevitable.
His mouth was warm and steady, his hands clamped on my waist like he knew I’d bolt if he gave me an inch to think. The cold air nipped at my cheeks, but the heat generated between us made me want to shed my winter coat. I slid my hands under his suit jacket and held onto him to stay upright. Snow fell soft and slow, the first flakes spiraling between the lights.
He deepened the kiss just enough to steal my breath and then stopped, like he knew exactly how far he could push before I’d break. When he pulled back, my body swayed toward him like I needed more. I did. But I couldn’t.
“We can’t do this,” I said as I struggled to remind myself to breathe.
His mouth curled up at the corners. “We just did.”
“Not again.”
“Not until after.” His voice was steady and calm, like whatever this was, whatever was threatening the bubble of safety I’d drawn around this event, was going to happen whether I was prepared for it or not. It was just a matter of time.
We walked the rest of the way to the cabin without touching. I tried to ignore him while I was acutely aware of every movement he made. Inside, I set my clipboard on the table and reviewed tomorrow’s checklist just to have something to do with my hands. He slid his jacket off and hung it over the back of a chair while pretending not to notice that my hands were shaking.
“We have rules,” I said again, hoping if we could agree not to acknowledge the heat between us, the sparks would burn out on their own.
“We do. I respect the hell out of rules, but some rules are impossible to stick to. Get through the wedding tomorrow, then you can decide if this is one of those rules worth breaking.” The look in his eyes told me which side of the rule he was standing on.
