Her hands find my chest, and mine slide to the small of her back, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us. The city disappears—traffic, chatter, the wind, everything.
There’s only this. Her mouth, her heartbeat, her.
I’ve shared kisses before, but never like this. Never with this ache, this quiet reverence. It’s not just want. It’s need. It’shome.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, foreheads still touching. She chuckles, and I feel it against my lips.
“About time,” she whispers.
I smile, really smile, and press one last kiss to her temple.
“Christ, worth every bloody second, kitten.”
The sun dips low behind the skyline, bathing her in gold, and for the first time in my life, forever doesn’t sound like a fairytale. It sounds like her.
Chapter 24
Istill feel him.
His hands, his mouth, the weight of that kiss humming under my skin. We kept walking after, but I barely remember crossing the rest of the bridge. Every step was dreamlike, half real, half heartbeat.
He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t either. I didn’t need to. His fingers stayed tangled with mine the whole way across, his thumb tracing slow circles over mine, like he was trying to memorize me. Each touch sent another current through me, small but sharp, and I swear I could’ve powered the entire city with what he made me feel.
Now we’re back on the Manhattan side, the noise louder, the air different. Faster, busier, less magic and more motion. He’s close enough that our arms brush with every stride, and I have to focus on breathing like a normal person.
I lead him down a side street lined with brownstones and tiny storefronts; the kind of place tourists never find. A place I’ve come to alone too many times to count. The neon sign above the door still flickers.La Primais a hole-in-the-wall Italian spot I found years ago when I first moved here. Brick walls, old records spinning behind the bar, pasta that ruins you for anywhere else.
“This is where you bring me after changing my life, is it?” he teases as I stop at the door.
I glance at him, fighting a smile. “You like Italian?”
“I’m Irish, kitten. I’ll eat anything if it comes with bread.”
I laugh and push the door open, the bell above it chimes, and warmth spills out to meet us.
We slide into a corner booth, half hidden behind a row of hanging plants. The place smells of garlic and wine and toasted bread, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’ve never brought anyone here before. Not a friend, not a date. Just me and my laptop and too much thinking.
With him, the space feels smaller.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the responsible part of me is screaming. The part that knows how bad it could be if this ever got out. But the rest of me—the bigger part—just wants to keep him laughing.
He sits across from me, leaning back against the leather seat, hat still low on his forehead. His jaw is shadowed, lips still a little pink from our kiss, and my stomach does a ridiculous flip. I pick up the menu to give my hands something to do, but my brain can’t seem to form words.
“Is this one of your regular spots?” he asks, voice low and rough in a way that hits somewhere deep in my spine.
I nod. “When I needed quiet.”
He studies me for a second, something unreadable flickering behind those gray eyes. “Guess I ruined that for you, then.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” My voice comes out softer than I intend. “You just… changed it.”
He doesn’t look away, and neither do I. The silence stretches, not awkward, justcharged. The kind that makes it hard to remember how to swallow.
When the waiter finally appears, I order quickly, mostly just to break the spell. He orders the same thing without even glancing at the menu, eyes still on me like I’m the only thing in the room worth studying.
The second the waiter walks away, I exhale, trying to steady myself. The restaurant hums around us. Quiet laughter, the clink of glasses, a love song floating low through the speakers, but it all fades into a blur.
Because all I can think about is that kiss and how badly I want another one.
