Eventually, she stepped back. “Let’s make breakfast. I’m starving.”
“After the night we had, that seems fair.”
I followed her into the kitchen, watching as she moved around like she belonged here. She pulled eggs from the fridge, found a pan, and began cracking shells like she’d done it a hundred times.
“So what now?” she asked, flipping the eggs. “Are you going to march down Main and let everyone know you’re back?”
“Hardly.” I grabbed plates from the cupboard. “I thought I’d stop by Ruby’s place and thank her for outing me.”
Scarlett grinned. “She’ll love that.”
“Then maybe I’ll visit the barbecue place. Talk to Cullen and let him know who’s behind the beef deal.”
She raised a brow. “Look at you. Making friends.”
I chuckled. “One at a time.”
We ate at the kitchen table, side by side, our legs brushing, the silence between us comfortable. It was enough to make me think maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all.
After she’d popped the last bite of toast into her mouth, she leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I’m proud of you.”
Fuck. Her faith in me hit harder than I expected. “I’m not there yet.”
“But you will be.”
For the first time, I let myself believe it. The rest of the world faded away until the only thing that mattered was her palm against mine.
“I used to wonder,” she whispered, “if I imagined it.”
“Imagined what?”
“That we had something real. That it wasn’t just young love or hormones or small-town fairytale stuff. But when I touched your hand back then, it felt like this. And now”—she gave my fingers a slight squeeze—“it still does.”
I didn’t trust my voice, so I leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away. She didn’t. Her eyes stayed on mine like she was bracing for impact.
“I thought you’d forget me,” I said. “I told myself you would. It was the only way I could sleep at night.”
“I didn’t,” she murmured. “Not for a second.”
My thumb brushed along the back of her hand. “I never stopped thinking about you, Scarlett. Not one damn day.”
Her lips parted, and I couldn’t stop looking at them.
Last night, when we kissed, it had been heat and pain and pent-up frustration. But this was something else entirely. This was slower, sweeter, and it scared the hell out of me.
She stood, never breaking our connection, and stepped closer. “I need you to mean it this time,” she said. “If you’re going to kiss me again, it can’t be like last night. It can’t be just a moment. I’ve done my waiting. I need the truth.”
“I don’t know how to give you anything but the truth.”
“Then show me.”
My heart stuttered. She was so close I could feel the heat of her body, the soft pull of her breath syncing up with mine.
I got to my feet. Her other hand slid up to the side of my neck, her thumb brushing against my jaw like she was committing it to memory.
“Kingston…”
I kissed her. This time, it wasn’t desperate. It was reverent. Her lips parted, and I deepened the kiss. She melted into me like she belonged there. Like we hadn’t wasted more than a decade being strangers. My arms circled her waist and pulled her close. I felt the way her breath hitched, how her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt like she never wanted to let go.
