Someone behind us groans.
Someone else mutters, "Jesus, get a room."
We don't even flinch.
We never really do.
I used to wonder why we're like this — why kissing him in front of people feels as natural as breathing. But maybe it's because we spent so long pretending we didn't want each other. Years of acting like he wasn't the person I fell asleep thinking about. Years of swallowing it down.
Now that we finally have each other?
Yeah, we're not hiding a damn thing.
If our public display of affection makes people gag, that's their problem. We're not hurting anyone — except maybe their eyes. And honestly? That's between them and their retinas.
His kiss softens, then deepens again, like he's reminding me he's here, he's mine, he's allowed to touch me now. And God... it feels so good.
When we finally break apart, breath mingling, his forehead rests against mine, and my chest feels warm and full and a little dizzy.
This —this— is why we never care who's watching.
We've waited too long to love each other out loud.
"Rehearsal's done for the night, right?" he asks, glancing over at Betsy. "Can I steal her now?"
I follow his gaze and immediately spot the clock on the wall.
"Holy crap," I whisper. "It's past nine?"
No wonder my legs feel like noodles.
Betsy waves a hand. "Yeah, go. We'll run it again next week. Rest. All of you."
Keith nods. "Good work today, Pennington."
Adam salutes me with his water bottle. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Which is nothing," I shoot back.
We all laugh.
Zach steps in just then, and before I can reach for anything, he's already grabbed my dance bag and the little luggage I packed for the trip—the one I brought because I'm staying at his place tonight. We're leaving early tomorrow morning to drive to Naples for Thanksgiving.
Sam already went home earlier today—Charlene swung by Miami first to visit her sister before heading north. Her sister's family can't join this year; they're flying to California to spend the holiday with her husband's side. So Sam ditched us with zero guilt and told us not to be late.
Zach slings both bags over his shoulder like they weigh nothing.
I turn to the others, forcing my tired arms to wave. "Happy Thanksgiving, guys!"
"Happy Thanksgiving!" they echo back.
Zach's fingers lace with mine as he leads me toward the door — warm, familiar, claiming.
And as we step into the hallway, he leans down to murmur against my ear, low and soft:
"Missed you."
God.
