“You want to?” he asks quietly.
Yes. God, yes.
But I manage a calm, “Sure.”
He leads me out, and the ground feels solid beneath my boots until he pulls me close. One of his hands settles at my waist—firm, warm through the layers of my coat. My heart stutters like a camera misfiring.
We sway to the music, tiny movements that feel bigger than they are. He smells like cedar smoke and cold air. His breath curls near my temple. Every part of me feels too aware of every part of him.
“You dance at festivals often?” I ask, mostly to keep myself from combusting.
“No.”
“You really like giving one-word answers, don’t you?”
“Depends on the question.”
I tilt my head back to look at him. “And this one?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t dance with just anyone.”
My pulse leaps. “Oh.”
We move through the song without talking, without needing to. His thumb strokes the back of my waist once, twice—small, steady touches that send warmth up my spine. My hands settle on his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing.
When the song ends, he doesn’t let go right away.
Neither do I.
The band starts something upbeat next, and someone bumps into us lightly. Kendrick steps back just enough that my brain can function again.
“You want to get out of here?” he asks, voice low.
My breath catches, but not from surprise. More from knowing exactly what that question means—and knowing I want it more than I should.
I nod.
We barely make it out of the festival boundaries before his hand finds mine again. We walk like we’re both trying not to rush—and failing. My heart’s hammering. His jaw’s tight. The air between us feels charged, like something waiting to be touched.
My cabin isn’t far.
By the time we reach the porch, my breath is warm fog in the cold night air, my pulse throbbing at the base of my throat.
I unlock the door, step inside, turn?—
And he’s already there, frame filling the doorway.
I don’t get another word out.
Kendrick cups my jaw in both hands and kisses me like the ridge wasn’t enough, like holding back was overrated, like tonight he wants to feel everything.
I gasp softly against his mouth, my fingers curling into his jacket. He steps forward, pushing the door shut with his boot, and the click of it closing echoes somewhere deep inside me.
We break apart only long enough for him to look at me—really look at me—eyes dark, breath uneven.
“Tell me to go,” he says roughly.
I shake my head. “Stay.”
