“Kiera,” he whispers.
I don’t say anything. Can’t say anything. I just stay there, getting lost in his eyes, breathing him in, letting myself feel this moment without overthinking it. And I don’t know if later I’ll regret this, all I know is I felt something, and I didn’t run away.
And that feels like a victory to me.
CHAPTER 15
RiverStone
Wednesday, June 2
I’m still holdingKiera on my lap, surrounded by Barbie dolls and their scattered accessories, and I can’t quite believe what just happened.
She kissed me.
Kiera Emmerson—guarded, sharp-tongued, walls-up-at-all-times Kiera—just kissed me.
My heart is still racing, my lips still tingling from the contact. She’s warm in my arms, her fingers still tangled in my hair, and I’m acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch. The weight of her on my lap. The way she fits against me like she was made to be there. The floral scent of her shampoo mixing with the lingering smell of the dinner she cooked.
But underneath the overwhelming attraction there’s something deeper. Something that makes my chest feel too full and too tight all at once.
She trusted me. After everything she went through, after being betrayed and used and thrown away by people who shouldhave known better, she trusted me enough to tell me the truth. To let me see her pain. To be vulnerable in a way I know terrifies her.
And then she kissed me.
I reach up and gently caress her cheek, brushing away the last traces of her tears with my thumb. Her skin is soft, warm, slightly damp from crying. She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
“Kiera,” I say softly, and her eyes open to meet mine. They’re still bright with tears, but there’s something else there too. Something I can’t quite name. “Are you okay?”
It’s the wrong question maybe, because obviously she’s not okay—she just cried herself out telling me about the worst thing that ever happened to her. But I need to know ifthisis okay. If kissing me was something she wanted or something she did because she was vulnerable and hurting and I was there.
She takes a shaky breath, and her hand comes up to twist a strand of her pink-streaked hair around her finger. The nervous habit I’ve learned to recognize. “I don’t know.”
The honesty in those three words makes my heart clench.
“I’m terrified,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. She’s still twisting the hair, winding it tighter around her finger. “I’m not sure about anything right now. I just—I acted on impulse. I felt something and I didn’t stop to think about it or talk myself out of it. I just... did it.”
She pauses, looking down at her lap. “But I don’t want to take it back.”
Relief floods through me so powerfully it makes me light-headed. I cup her face in both hands, tilting her chin up so she has to look at me.
“I have feelings for you,” I say, and the words feel huge. Important. “I think you already know that. I think you’ve known for a while now.”
Pink creeps up her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away.
“But I don’t want to push you into anything,” I continue. “There’s no rush here, Kiera. I’m not going anywhere. If you need time, if you need space, if you need to go slow—I can do that. I can do all of that. Because you’re worth waiting for.”
Her eyes fill with tears again, but this time they look different. Softer, somehow. “You mean that?”
“I mean every word.” I stroke my thumbs across her cheekbones. “What happened to you—what that guy did, what your parents did—that wasn’t about you. That was about them. Their cruelty, their selfishness, their complete failure to see what they had right in front of them.”
“River—”
“You’re incredible, Kiera. You’re talented and strong and funny and kind. You survived something that would have broken most people, and you’re still standing. Still fighting for your dreams. Still willing to trust again even though it scares you.” My voice gets rougher. “Anyone who can’t see how amazing you are doesn’t deserve you.”
She makes this small sound—half laugh, half sob—and then she’s hugging me, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face against my shoulder. “This means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”
I hold her close, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressed against her back. We stay like that for a long moment, just breathing together, existing in this fragile new space we’ve created.
