But when his mouth brushes mine so achingly slow, I melt.
It isn’t rushed. Or performative.
He takes his time. Tastes, teases, lingers, draws me in like a breath.
My knees go weak.
God. The way this man kisses.
Not just with his mouth, but with his whole being.
And for one terrifying, incredible second, it feels like I’ve never been kissed before.
When it finally ends, he’s still close enough that I can taste him as he pulls back, and I’m dizzy.
It takes a full minute before my voice box remembers how to work.
I fix my hair and turn to the photographer, clinging to my job like a life raft.
“Was that good?” I ask. “Do you need another take?”
Dear God, please say yes.
“Oh, I’m good,” he insists, drawing out the word.
The priest smiles, satisfied, and pats Harrison on the shoulder. “I was worried about you for a second there, son,” he says, amused. “But you did well.”
“Yeah, he did,” Chad adds, elbowing him with a grin and a wink.
Harrison fidgets with his tie. “Thanks,” he says modestly.
And if I didn’t know better, I would swear the man of steel was blushing.
We thank everyone profusely and take another dozen photos and even selfies with Chad and the priest. It's sort of the normal etiquette.
And then Harrison and I take off.
We head outside the church, where Travis is already waiting with the car.
A flicker of disappointment rises at not walking back, but I bury it fast.
Harrison showed up for me today. He made sure I didn’t have to work with Pierce or let the creep touch me. At least not yet.
I don't think I could stand it right now.
I don't know what Harrison went through to be there for me today, but I'll be there for him when he's ready.
I take all of two steps when he asks, “If those paper-bag-thin shoes of yours can tolerate it, how do you feel about a walk?”
Is he a mind reader?
I slide my sunglasses down over my eyes, a smile tugging at my mouth.
“Only if we can stop for a pretzel. They’ve kind of become my favorite.”
He considers this. “As long as they have honey mustard.”
“Oh. My. Freaking. God.”
