“That’s different.” She won’t look at me. “A camera is practical. A stuffed animal is?—”
“A comfort item,” Kiki supplies gently from the doorway. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, Kiera. You’ve had that Eeyore since you were five.”
Kiera’s shoulders tense, and I can see her retreating into herself. Time to change the subject.
“So,” I say, clapping my hands together and surveying the room with exaggerated focus, “where do we start? Bed frame first?”
Kiera shoots me a grateful look. “Yeah. Bed frame first.”
The next hour passes in a blur of physical labor. We disassemble the bed frame carefully, Kiki directing while Kiera and I do the heavy lifting. The pieces are awkward and heavier than they look, but we manage to get everything down the stairs and loaded into the truck bed.
Then come the boxes. So many boxes. Kiera doesn’t have a lot of possessions, but what she does have is packed carefully and efficiently. Clothes, kitchen supplies, books, linens. Each box is labeled in neat handwriting, and I find myself studying her organizational system with appreciation.
“You’re very thorough,” I say, loading a box marked “Winter Clothes” into the truck.
“I figured labeling boxes would save me headaches later.” She lifts a smaller box and slides it into the truck beside mine.
By the time we have everything loaded, I’m sweating and my arms are sore, but not in a bad way. Kiera waves goodbye to Kiki and Skyler, promising to come back for family dinners, and then we’re heading to the truck.
“I can drive,” she says, sliding behind the wheel.
“Sure thing.” I climb into the passenger seat.
She starts the truck and backs carefully out of the driveway. We drive to the bookstore in comfortable silence, and I watch the island pass by through the window. It really is beautiful here—the way the afternoon light hits the water, the charm of the old buildings on Main Street, the slower pace that feels worlds away from LA.
Kiera parks behind the bookstore, and we start the process of unloading. The bed frame and mattress goes first, piece by heavy piece up the narrow staircase. We have to angle the mattress to get it around the corners, and by the time we have everything upstairs, we’re both breathing hard.
“Okay,” Kiera says, surveying the pile of bed frame pieces in the middle of her new apartment. “Now we just have to put it back together.”
“After we bring up the boxes,” I remind her.
She groans. “Right. The boxes.”
We head back downstairs, and I grab two boxes while Kiera takes a lighter one. The staircase is narrow enough that we have to go single file, and I’m behind her, watching her navigate the steps carefully with the box in her arms. We work together, bringing up box after box.
I set down a box of cookbooks and head toward the stairs just as Kiera turns around like she forgot something.
We collide.
She bumps into my chest and stumbles backward. Instinct takes over—I grab her waist, pulling her against me to keep her from falling down the stairs.
“Whoa,” I breathe, my heart hammering. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I—” She looks up at me, and suddenly we’re inches apart.
My hands are on her waist, firm and steady. Her hands have come up to grip my arms, and I can feel her fingers pressing into my biceps. She’s close enough that I can see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes, can smell that floral scent of her shampoo, can feel the warmth of her breath.
Her lips part slightly, and my gaze drops to her mouth without permission. To her perfectly formed lips. They look soft. Inviting. And I shouldn’t be thinking about what I’m thinking about, but I do it anyway.
It would be so easy to lean down just a few inches and finally know what it’s like to kiss Kiera Emmerson.
Her eyes are dark, pupils dilated, and she’s not pulling away. If anything, she’s leaning in, just slightly. Her fingers tighten on my arms.
What would she do if I kissed her? Would she kiss me back? Or would it scare her even more away?
She’s staring into my eyes, not moving. I can’t even tell if we’re breathing. And then her gaze flicks to my lips. That’s all the invitation I need.
I start to lower my head, slowly, giving her every chance to stop me. My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure she can feel it. The world narrows to just this—her and me and the tiny space between us that’s getting smaller with every breath.
