“Me?” My eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t know the first thing about sewing, but I can go find your mom.”
She didn’t flinch. “Everything you’ve helped with today has worked out. You will be fine.”
“I don’t exactly like needles.” I pretend to back away.
She smirks. “Just don’t think about it too much.”
The wedding planner walks away, probably to save someone else’s wedding emergency. Koren and I duck into a quiet hallway. She slips off my jacket, still gripping the front of her dress, and extends the broken strap toward me. I stare at her smooth skin and struggle not to hold my breath. “This feels like a weird trust test.”
“It’s not a test.” She’s laughing as she speaks. “Just don’t poke me, and I’ll let you live.”
“Phew. Maybe I should mention I’ve never sewed anything in my life.” I blow out a breath. “No pressure or anything.”
The needle is tiny, and the satin slippery. And the area I have to work with? Perilously close to dangerous territory.
“I’m glad we made up before you forced me to do this, because this feels extremely intimate,” I mutter, squinting as I thread the needle.
“It’s not intimate.” She chuckles again. “It’s my shoulder, and you’re making it weird.”
“Trust me, I’m trying to be cool.” I blow out another breath. “Okay, can you stop shaking and hold steady.”
“I’m trying not to laugh. Your face is doing that scrunch thing.”
It’s my turn to chuckle because I know exactly what she’s talking about. I can’t help it, but it’s what I do when I’m nervous. “Unless you want me to sew this to your hair, hold still.”
I pinch the strap to the dress. The air shifts between us, easing out of the awkwardness. Somehow this feels easy. I lean closer and push the needle through the edge of the strap, doing my best to keep everything lined up.
“You always used to fix everything for me,” she says softly.
I freeze, wondering how much I want to push this. She has to know how sorry I am. “I always wanted to.”
“You still do.” She glances over her shoulder, eyes serious and sensual. Or maybe I’m just imagining the sensual part. Sweat beads on my lower back as I struggle to keep my cool. I pull the needle through the dress one final time before knotting the thread. I thank my lucky Boy Scout days for teaching me knots, then tug the thread until it breaks.
The knot holds.
The dress stays up.
She shakes her shoulder, testing the strap. “Well, you pass.” Then she looks at me, and I swear time hiccups. That smile that used to undo me and still does fill her face. “Thank you.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I reach up and brush a tendril from her cheek. My hand lingers against her cheek, like it remembers her shape.
“You’re welcome,” I breathe. Before I can stop myself, I lean in, slowly aiming for her lips. She doesn’t move. I take that as an invitation to kiss her again. This time more intentionally.
The kind of kiss that saysI missed you.
Her hand presses against my chest. Not to push me away, but to anchor herself. Like kissing me feels like falling. Because that’s exactly how it feels to me.
When we finally part, her smile glows. “Okay,” she says, “now youdefinitelypass.”
I grin and point to the ballroom. “Should we go back in?”
She reaches her hand out to me, causing my heart to stutter. “Lead the way.”
I take her hand like I’ll never let it go again.
thirteen
Koren
