“Does it matter? You’re here. You’re safe. Tommy’s safe.” I step closer. Just slightly. “That’s what counts.”
She looks at me then. Really looks at me. The moonlight catches in her green eyes, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
“You’re not what I expected,” she says quietly.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Jake’s goofy friend? The guy who makes everyone laugh?” She shakes her head. “But you’re more than that.”
“Good more or bad more?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
She’s smiling when she says it. Slight smile, barely there. But it’s enough to make me brave. Enough to make me step closer. Enough to make me stop thinking about all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
“Rachel—”
“This is probably a bad idea,” she says.
“Probably.”
“Jake would kill you.”
“Most likely.”
“I just got out of a relationship. I’m a mess. I have a kid. I’m unemployed. I’m living with my brother.” She lists each point like she’s trying to talk herself out of something. “This is the worst possible timing.”
“Absolutely terrible timing.”
“So, we shouldn’t—”
I lean in. Slow enough that she can stop me. Slow enough that she can step back, can say no, can remind me of every reason she just listed.
She doesn’t step back.
She rises on her toes and meets me halfway.
The kiss is soft at first. Careful. Like we’re both testing something fragile. Her hand comes up to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, and I bring my hand to her waist and pull her closer.
She tastes like maple and makes a small sound when I deepen the kiss, and every thought in my head goes quiet except this. Just this. Just her.
Her other hand slides into my hair, and I forget about timing. Forget about complications. Forget about Jake and the fact that Cole probably wants this too, and the brief, insane thought that crosses my mind—the three of us have shared before, not like this, not someone like her, but maybe—
No. I shove that thought down hard. That’s not what this is. That’s not what she needs.
She needs someone steady. Someone safe. Someone who won’t complicate her already complicated life.
Her fingers tighten in my hair, and I pull her closer, deepening the kiss, and she makes this slight sound that drives me crazy—
Boom.
The shotgun blast echoes across the lake, sharp and sudden, part of the festival games—the shooting competition by the north end.
We break apart, both breathing hard, both startled by the noise.
Rachel’s eyes are wide, her lips swollen from kissing. My hand is still on her waist.
“That was—” she starts.
