And when she kissed me back—really kissed me, hungry and sure—I forgot every reason I wasn’t supposed to be here. Forgot every rule I’d written for myself. Every wall I’d spent years holding up.
She was the storm.
And I walked straight into it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
TALLY
Hishandswerewarm,sliding into my hair, anchoring me right where I was, and it was almost too much. Not the kiss—no, that part was perfect—but everything wrapped inside it. The tenderness buried under all that control, the way his breath hitched when mine did, like we were caught in the same rhythm.
The weight of everything unsaid pressed between us—two months of near-misses and small disasters, of learning each other’s edges and soft spots, of Charlie showing up in every way that mattered without ever being asked. It was all there: in thelingering looks, the arguments that weren’t really about what they seemed, in everyalmostthat had burned itself into my skin.
And now it lived in this—the slide of his mouth against mine, the firm hold of his hand at the back of my neck, the unspoken certainty that this had always been coming. We’d finally stopped pretending we could fight it.
And I let him kiss me the way you do when you’re trying to find life in another person’s touch—not because I trusted him not to hurt me, not completely, but because, for once, I trusted myself. Trusted that what I felt wasn’t a mistake or a hormonal blur or an accident of timing. It was real. It was happening.
His mouth was gentle and unhurried, but there was tension beneath it, a held breath in his chest that trembled under my hands. When I pressed my fingers to the front of his shirt, his exhale moved through me, slow and shuddering.
Everything inside me cracked open with that sound.
His voice came low and rough, worn thin at the edges. “I thought I’d lost you. I’m so sorry, Tally, I—”
I shook my head, trying to knock myself out of whatever spell that kiss had cast. Because my feelings were still hurt. And Charlie had been the one who hurt them.
But the way he looked at me then—that wasn’t performance. That wasn’t panic. That was someone stripped bare. That was someone telling the truth with more than just his mouth. His hands hadn’t moved from my waist, and I hadn’t pulled away. Because in his arms, everything felt… aligned. Solid. Like I’d finally slotted into the space that had always been carved out for me, even if neither of us had known it until now.
And maybe that was foolish. Perhaps I was about to look back on this and wince.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Did you mean it?” I asked. The words tasted bitter. “What you said. Back at the bar.”
His hand rose again, gently. Two fingers brushed the edge of my lips, tracing the shape like a memory he didn’t want to forget, his thumb pausing at the corner of my mouth like it hurt to let go.
“You’re not going to love this, but—on the surface? Yeah. I meant it.”
I jerked back, but his hands found my waist again, holding me in place—not possessive, only sure.
“No—Tally, listen. You make me feel like I’m going to break out in hives. But not because you annoy me.” He exhaled, clearly flustered. “I mean—okay, you do irritate me sometimes, but that’s not the point.”
I blinked up at him, dumbfounded. “So… you kissed me because I give you a rash?”
Charlie groaned, tilting his head back. “God, I’m so bad at this.”
“No argument here,” I muttered.
“I said something stupid. I know that,” he said, quieter now, almost a confession. “Because the truth is—being around you these few months has messed with my head. I don’t do unpredictability. I don’t like it when things change. But then you showed up and... now I’m making sure my studio fridge is stocked with iced tea and olives. I’m freaking my friends out because I’m talking about something other than art they don’t understand, and the concept of reclamation as a means to recycle. I’m losing sleep on a too-small couch just in case you need me in the middle of the night.”
He paused, his eyes searching mine.
“You make me nervous, Tally. In the kind of way that keeps me up at night, wondering what else I could get you to say—what other sounds I could pull from you—just by putting my mouth on you.” He closed the little space I’d created between us, headdipping down so his lips grazed my ear. “You have no idea what you do to me, darlin’.”
A grin tugged at my mouth before I could stop it. “Charlie Pruitt,” I said, leaning in, “You’ve got a crush on me.”
His hands finally dropped from my waist, long enough for him to rake a hand through his rain-dark curls, plastered to his forehead. The scowl was gone, replaced by mischief and certainty—an expression that made it very clear he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Yes, Tally Aden,” he said, stepping in so close his breath mingled with mine. “I’ve got a wicked crush on you.”
