“I was happy to help.” He shifts in his seat. “Besides, I told you—I needed to get out of my editing room. Manual labor is good for the soul.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
He laughs, and the sound fills the small car in a way that sends warmth flooding through me.
At River’s house, I pull out the marinated galbi from the fridge and start prepping the grill on his back patio while he sets the table. The marinade smells good—sweet and savory with hints of garlic and ginger—and I’m actually proud of how it turned out.
The sun is setting and I take a moment to look out at the ocean. The sky is lit up with streaks of orange and pink, and the setting sun is glittering off the water. It’s breathtaking.
River steps out on the patio with me. “Wow, that smells good.”
Heat flushes to my cheeks. Why does he make my pulse race? I take a step back from him. “Thanks.”
I come back inside to prep some vegetables to go with the meat, pulling out a cutting board and knife. River heads into the dining room to set out the plates, and I can hear him humming something that sounds suspiciously like a Fall Out Boy song.
I smile despite myself and start chopping carrots for a quick side dish. The repetitive motion is soothing, meditative, and I let my mind wander while my hands work.
I think about River humming in the next room, about the way he looked at me when we almost kissed, about how his hands felt on my waist?—
The knife slips.
Pain blooms sharp and immediate across my left index finger. I drop the knife with a clatter, grabbing my hand as blood wells up from the cut.
“Ow!” The word comes out before I can stop it.
“What happened?” River appears in the kitchen doorway instantly, and before I can tell him I’m fine, he’s crossing to me in three long strides.
“Nothing, I just—” I try to pull my hand back, but he’s already gently taking my wrist, turning my hand to examine the cut.
“Let me see.” His voice is calm but firm, and his touch is so careful it makes my heart stutter.
“It’s not that bad,” I protest weakly, but I don’t pull away.
He holds my hand under the light, his thumb pressing gently beside the cut to see how deep it is. The contact sends electricity crackling up my arm, and suddenly I’m hyperaware ofeverything—his fingers wrapped around my wrist, the warmth of his skin against mine, the way he’s standing so close I can smell that woodsy scent that’s become familiar.
“It’s not too deep,” he says, his voice lower than before. “But we should clean it and get a bandage on it.”
“I’m fine.” But my voice comes out breathless, betraying me.
He looks up from my hand, and our eyes meet. We’re inches apart, his hand still cradling mine, and the air between us feels charged with the same tension from the stairwell earlier.
His gaze drops to my lips, then back to my eyes. My heart is hammering again, and I can feel the pull between us like gravity.
This is bad, but I can’t make myself step back. Can’t make myself pull my hand from his. Can’t do anything except stand here, caught in his orbit, feeling the attraction mount with every breath.
“Kiera,” he says softly, and the way he says my name makes something flutter in my chest.
His thumb strokes gently across the inside of my wrist, and I swear he can feel my pulse racing beneath his touch. The cut on my finger is forgotten. Everything is forgotten except the way he’s looking at me, the way the space between us feels like it’s shrinking even though neither of us has moved.
I should say something. Make a joke. Shield myself before this goes any further.
But all I can think about is what it would feel like if he kissed me. If I let him close that distance and could finally find out if his lips are as soft as they look.
This is dangerous. This is exactly what I swore I wouldn’t do.
But Heaven help me, I want it anyway.
CHAPTER 11
