Hazel recognized the fear, for it was her own; fear of feeling too much, fear of naming what was happening, fear that once named, none of this would be real any longer. But beneath the fear was something warm and alive and terrifyingly precious.
Hazel took a small step closer. “I will cherish this gift all my life,” she whispered.
Greyson’s gaze snapped back to hers. Their breaths mingled. Their hearts matched in fierce, trembling rhythm. Hazel had the sudden, unmistakable sense that if either of them reached out, the entire world would shift beneath their feet.
They both stood still, both wanting, both afraid.
Greyson stared at her as though seeing her for the first time, as though she were something luminous and fragile and beyond his grasp. Hazel felt rooted in place, with her breath caught somewhere between terror and longing.
“Greyson…” she whispered.
That was all it took.
He stepped closer cautiously, as if giving her every chance to pull away. She didn’t. Her pulse thudded in her ears, while her heart pulled her forward as surely as the sun pulled at the tide. His hand lifted, hesitating in the air beside her cheek.
“Hazel,” he breathed, and then very gently, his palm cupped her cheek.
Hazel’s breath broke. Her eyes fluttered shut at the warmth of his touch, the tenderness of it, the question in it. She leaned into his hand before she even realized she’d moved.
Greyson drew a soft, aching breath, and then, he kissed her in a single, fragile moment where the walls she’d built her entire life simply fell.
His lips brushed hers with the gentlest pressure, unbearably tender. Hazel felt the world tilt. She felt her knees weaken, while her fingers grasped instinctively at his coat to steady herself. Greyson’s thumb stroked her cheek, feather-light, as though he feared she might break.
Hazel melted into his embrace.
The kiss deepened only by a breath, still soft and still careful, as though he wanted to memorize the shape of her lips, the warmth of her mouth, the way she trembled beneath his touch. She felt his exhale against her skin, disbelieving that this was taking place.
Hazel’s heart was no longer beating. It was soaring, spinning, unraveling. The world narrowed to the feel of his mouth on hers and the quiet sound she made when he drew back just an inch.
When Hazel opened her eyes, she found him watching her with an expression that stole the breath from her lungs. He was watching her as though he could scarcely believe he had allowed himself to want her so openly.
Hazel’s hand drifted to her lips, still tingling. She could not speak. She could barely breathe.
Greyson swallowed. “Hazel…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The meaning hung between them, terrifyingly beautiful. Hazel felt her heart expand painfully, impossibly, as though her ribcage could no longer contain it.
She had never been kissed like this. She had never been held so gently. She had never been looked at with such quiet reverence.
She was utterly breathless, utterly shaken and utterlyhis.
And it was terrifying to feel this way.
The moment Greyson drew back, Hazel’s face held him fast, as though the world had narrowed to the soft flush blooming over her cheeks and to the way her eyes shone, so startled and bright, as if she herself were astonished by what had just passed between them.
He did not immediately step away. He found that he could not make himself do so.
Her lips parted, then pressed together again, as though she were collecting herself. Greyson noted, entirely against his will, that she did so with the same practical determination she brought to everything else, even to being kissed.
“I did not know,” she said carefully, “that gratitude might be expressed so…thoroughly.”
He huffed a quiet breath. “Nor did I.”
A pause followed. It was delicate, but perilous at the same time.
Greyson cleared his throat. “The air is fine this afternoon. If you are inclined, perhaps we might walk for a few moments.”
Her brows lifted, just slightly. “Are you asking me to take a stroll, Your Grace?”
