She collapsed forward, her arms tight around my shoulders, her face buried in my neck.
I held her. Just held her. Didn’t rush it. Didn’t say a word.
When her breathing finally slowed, she lifted her head slowly, dazed, like she’d forgotten where she was. Her eyes found mine, unfocused and hazy.
“Holy shit,” she breathed.
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. The sound came out rough and low, but genuine. “Yeah,” I managed. “You can say that again.”
She traced her fingers along my jaw, soft and wondering, and I caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. Her smile turned softer, almost shy.
Then awareness crept back in. She glanced at the fogged windows, seemed to register where we still were, what we’d just done. A flush crept up her neck, different from before.
“I should, uh...” She bit her lip. “I guess I should let you go.”
I didn’t want her to. Wanted to keep her right here, warm and soft in my lap, looking at me like I’d hung the damn moon. But I nodded anyway, my hands sliding from her hips reluctantly.
She started to move, but I caught her chin gently, tilting her face back to mine.
“One more,” I murmured.
This kiss was different. Slower. Softer. Like we were both trying to hold on to something fragile and perfect, knowing the moment we stopped touching, reality would come rushing back in.
Her lips moved against mine with a tenderness that made my throat ache. When we finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against mine for just a second, eyes closed.
Then she was climbing off me, fumbling with the door handle. I watched her step down from the truck, her dress falling back into place, her hair a beautiful mess.
She glanced back at me once before she turned toward her house. The look on her face was soft, a little wondering. Then she was walking across her lawn, up her porch steps, disappearing inside.
I sat there in my truck, windows still fogged, heart still racing, completely and utterly wrecked.
Holy shit was right.
EMILY
Iheard Cam’s truck pull into the driveway and my hands stilled on the counter I’d been wiping for the third time.
This was it.
My stomach twisted into a knot so tight I thought I might be sick. I forced myself to keep breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The same way I’d been doing for the past hour while I waited for him to get home.
The girls had gone down easy tonight. Alice had fallen asleep halfway through the second chapter of her book, and Audrey had been out before I’d even finished tucking her in. Which meant I’d had nothing to do but sit downstairs and spiral.
So I’d started cleaning.
I’d found a cupboard with a top shelf full of empty jars. Mason jars, pasta sauce jars, jam jars. All clean but dusty, like they’d been saved for some future purpose that never materialized. I’d pulled them all down and lined them up on the counter, wiping each one carefully with a damp cloth even though they didn’t really need it.
Anything to keep my hands busy. Anything to stop myself from chickening out and running home the second he got back.
The metallic scrape of a key in the lock shattered the silence. Then came the creak of the door. His heavy footsteps in the entryway.
“Em?” His voice carried into the kitchen, low and a little rough. Probably tired from whatever job had kept him out this late.
“In here.”
He appeared in the doorway a moment later, and my heart did that stupid thing it always did when I saw him. That flutter and squeeze that made me want to cross the room and bury my face in his chest.
But I couldn’t do that.
