I don’t remember deciding to kiss him again.
I just remember the way the air shifted when the door closed behind him. The way the house felt suddenly smaller. Quieter. Charged.
Dane stands in my living room like he’s not sure whether to take off his boots or pull me into his arms, and for one wild second I almost tell him to go.
Not because I don’t want him.
Because I want him too much.
“You don’t have to stay,” I say, even though I invited him here.
He watches my face carefully. “Do you want me to go?”
No.
The word sits so loud in my chest I’m sure he can hear it.
Instead, I say, “I want to be clear about something.”
“Okay.”
“This can’t be… careless.”
His jaw tightens. “I don’t think either of us is wired that way.”
Good.
That makes this scarier.
I cross the room slowly, giving myself time to change my mind.
I don’t.
When I kiss him this time, it’s deliberate. No adrenaline. No interruption. Just the slow, aching press of months—years—of unfinished history folding in on itself.
He exhales into my mouth like he’s been holding his breath.
His hands come up to my waist, warm and steady, like he’s afraid to spook me if he moves too fast. It makes something inside me melt in a way I absolutely do not have time for.
“I can give you the house tour later,” I murmur against his lips.
“I’d like that.”
“But how about I show you my bedroom first.”
His lips curve against mine. “I’d like that even more.”
Though I don’t want to stop kissing him, we do long enough to tiptoe down the hallway, taking care to lock the bedroom door behind us.
Scottie is a pretty sound sleeper. But the last thing I need is for her to hear or see something she shouldn’t.
Once we’re inside, some of the butterflies come back to my belly.
I let out a shaky breath. “Hi.”
He grins and tucks a lock of hair behind my ears. “Hello, there.”
He leans in to kiss me again, but I freeze. He leans back to study my gaze.
