I tilt my head, pretending to consider it. “Charlie,” I repeat, letting the sound roll off my tongue. “I like it.”
“Good,” he says, but his tone shifts. It’s less teasing now.Lower. More serious. “Because there’s something I’d like to ask you, Charlie.”
My heart gives a little stutter. “What’s that?”
He steps away from the shovel, closing the space between us. His eyes don’t leave mine.
“Can I kiss you?”
My breath catches. Not from nerves, but from anticipation. From the way he asks, like it’s sacred. Like he knows the difference between wanting and earning.
I smile, soft and certain. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Sam’s smile deepens. And then he steps in.
One hand lifts to my cheek, rough palm brushing against my skin, warm even in the cold barn. His thumb grazes just beneath my eye, and I swear the air shifts between us. My breath stutters. My heart trips over itself.
Then his mouth finds mine.
It’s not rushed. Not desperate. It’s the kind of kiss that builds slowly, layers of heat unfolding one after another, like he’s learning me with every brush of his lips.
He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and I melt against him without thinking. My hands find the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric, anchoring myself as the world narrows down to just this. Just him.
His other hand settles at my waist, fingers flexing like he’s trying not to pull me all the way in like he wants to, but he’s still giving me the chance to stop him.
Spoiler: I won’t.
I lean up on my toes, pressing harder into him, and he groans softly into my mouth. The sound goes straight to my chest and coils low in my belly. My fingers slide up his chest, slow and curious, until they reach the bare skin exposed by his undone buttons. I really wish I didn’t have the gloves on, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
When we finally part, breathless and flushed, he smiles down at me.
“I could get used to that,” he murmurs.
My lips curve. “Better be careful saying things like that, Sam Stone.”
He chuckles. “What? Afraid I’m serious?”
I don’t answer. Because maybe I hope he is.
From somewhere deeper in the barn, Phern calls out, “Snow’s picking up out there!”
I sigh against Sam’s chest, still catching my breath. “Guess that means we should stop making out and get to work.”
He grins. “Can’t remember the last time I made out with someone.”
I pull back just enough to raise an eyebrow. “Okay, Dad. How old are you again?”
“Forty-one,” he says easily, with a shrug that somehow makes him hotter.
I laugh. “Well, that explains the slow burn. You’re trying to protect your back.”
He smirks. “Nah, sweetheart. That just means I come with a lot of experience. And it’s your back you should be worried about.”
I’m still laughing as I grab his shovel and head toward the next stall, trying and failing not to picture what kind of experience he means.
“Careful, cowboy. That confidence is showing.”
He falls in step beside me, picking up a rake like he hasn’t just wrecked my brain with one kiss and a handful of words.
