I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for an hour.
After dessert—which is apparently my assigned task, but June made three pies anyway “just in case”—the living room fills with chatter and games.
I’m smiling. I’m laughing. I’m pretending I’m not hyper-aware of Beau’s proximity every second.
Then Beau leans in close, his mouth near my ear.
“I need a minute,” he murmurs. “Come outside.”
My heart stutters. “Outside?”
His hand slides to my waist—firm, careful—and I swear my brain short-circuits.
“Just—come,” he says, voice rough.
I nod like I’m under hypnosis.
We slip out the back door into the cold night, the porch light casting warm gold over the snow. The world is quiet out here, muffled and still.
Beau turns to face me, and the second the door clicks shut behind us, something changes in him.
The calm cracks.
His gaze drags over me like he’s trying to control it and failing.
“Mila,” he says, and my name sounds like a warning.
My breath comes fast. “Beau.”
He steps closer until there’s barely any space between us.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he admits, voice low and raw. “All damn week.”
My chest tightens. “Then why didn’t you come back?”
His jaw flexes. “Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d leave.”
The words hit like a spark to gasoline.
I swallow hard, suddenly brave. “Maybe you don’t have to.”
Beau’s eyes flash—heat, need, something hungry.
His hand cups my jaw, thumb stroking lightly over my cheek like he can’t help it.
“You say that,” he murmurs, “like you don’t realize what you’re asking.”
I lean into his touch because I can’t not. “I know exactly what I’m asking.”
Beau’s breath shudders.
Then he kisses me.
Harder than the first time.
Like he’s been holding back and it’s finally costing him too much.
My hands fly to his jacket, fisting the fabric as I melt into him. He grips my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the full force of how much he wants this—wantsme—through every tense line of his body.
