I follow her gaze. Mistletoe.
"Oh," I say stupidly. "That's?—"
"Mistletoe." Her cheeks flush. "Still up from yesterday."
"Right." My heart is pounding.
We stand there for a moment, both staring up at it.
"Seth?" Her voice is quiet.
"Yeah?"
"I'm really bad at this. At knowing what I want and asking for it."
"That's okay?—"
"But I think—" She looks at me, and her eyes are wide and vulnerable. "I think I want you to kiss me. If that's okay. If you want to."
My brain short-circuits. "If I—yes. Yeah. I very much want to."
"Okay." She's still biting her lip, nervous. "Okay."
"Okay," I echo, and then I'm leaning in slowly, giving her time to change her mind.
And then somehow I'm moving, and she's meeting me halfway, and her hand is fisting in my jacket to pull me closer.
The kiss is?—
It's everything.
Soft at first. Tentative. I'm terrified of doing it wrong, of being bad at this. But then she sighs against my mouth and makes this small sound in the back of her throat, and something in me just—responds.
I cup her face with shaking hands, trying to remember how this goes. She tastes like coffee and something uniquely her—that cinnamon-apple sweetness that's been driving me crazy for weeks.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into my uniform shirt. She presses closer, rising on her tiptoes, and I'm not surewhat to do with my hands so I settle them on her waist. Gentle. Careful.
"Seth," she breathes against my mouth.
The way she says my name—I can't help it. A low rumble starts in my chest. Purring.
Her eyes go wide and she pulls back slightly. "Are you?—"
"Sorry," I manage, face burning. "Can't—I can't help it. You're?—"
She smiles and kisses me again, and this time it's deeper. Her tongue traces my lower lip and I freeze for a second—I don't know what I'm doing, I've never—but then I just follow her lead. Mirror what she does.
It must be okay because she makes that sound again and presses even closer.
I'm still purring. Can't stop. Don't want to stop.
Her scent is everywhere now. Cinnamon and apples and arousal, sweet and heady and perfect. It's intoxicating. I'm drowning in it and I never want to surface.
One of my hands slides from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer. The other stays on her hip, thumb brushing the sliver of skin where her shirt has ridden up. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it.
"We're—" Her breath hitches. "We're still in the store."
"Oh god." Reality crashes back. I pull away, face flaming. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—that was?—"
