His jaw clenches. “I could say the same about you.”
“Why don’t we just go back to avoiding each other? This town is too small and our families too involved with one another for us to do anything but pretend the other doesn’t exist.”
He leans one hand on the counter beside me, close enough that I catch the faint smell of his soap and something sharper, woodsy and spicy. “You don’t mean it.”
I should make a joke. Walk out.Something.But my brain has apparently clocked out for the night.
“I do mean it,” I say finally, aiming for flippant but hearing the waver in my voice. “But I’m too nice to make you do all these dishes alone. I can’t believe everyone left. And leftme!”
“I told them it was one of my gifts to them, and I think everyone was exhausted and intoxicated enough to take me up on it.” He chuckles. “So you’re off the hook. I also told them I’d bring you home.”
The kitchen feels smaller by the second, like the walls are caving in on us. He’s still got one hand braced on the counter, his body angled toward mine, and I can’t tell if he’s going to shove a plate into my hands or tell me to get out.
His eyes narrow, but there’s something else there too—like the air between us has just shifted. “Why do you do this?” he asks.
I blink. “Do what?”
“This.” He gestures vaguely between us, his voice rougher now. “Why do you make me feel this way?”
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. “Feel what way?”
“You know what I think?” His jaw tightens. “I think it’s because you want me.”
It’s like the floor drops out from under me. My face goes hot—not from embarrassment, but from pure, white-hot fury. “You’ve got it backwards.”
His mouth quirks, but it’s not a smile—it’s more like a challenge. “Do I?”
“Yeah,” I snap, gripping the dish towel so tight it twists in my hands. “You’re the one who can’t stay out ofmyspace, Camden. Not the other way around.”
“And yet, here you are, in my kitchen.”
The silence that follows crackles, thick and heavy.
We’re staring each other down, and neither of us moves. His jaw’s set, mine probably is too, and the air between us feels like it could shatter if one of us breathes too hard.
He takes a slow step closer. I don’t back up.
Another step.
The heat rolling off him is impossible to ignore now. I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the tiny muscle flexing in his cheek. His gaze drops—just for a second—to my mouth, and my heart stutters so loud I’m sure he hears it.
My voice is gone, stolen by the way he’s looking at me.
“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmurs.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My back finds the edge of the counter, and he’s right there, so close I can feel the whisper of his breath against my cheek.
The moment stretches, electric. If either of us leans forward even an inch, it will be over—no going back.
My hands twitch at my sides, and I hate that part of me wants to reach for him.
And then?—
I blink, my eyes snapping open.
It’s dark. I’m tangled in my sheets, the faint taste of mulled wine still in my mouth and my heart hammering like I ran the whole way here.
For a long minute, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece it together. The kitchen. Camden. That almost…
