“Thank you for walking with me.”
“It’s on my way.”
“Your restaurant is in the opposite direction.”
“Details.” He shifted his weight, suddenly aware that this was the moment. The goodbye. The chance to walk away and put some much-needed distance between them.
He didn’t want distance.
“Sara.”
“Mm?”
He stepped closer. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t back away. Her eyes were wide, fixed on his face, and he could see her pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat.
Keep it chaste,he told himself.Just a goodbye. Nothing more.
But God, she smelled incredible this close. Vanilla and sugar and underneath it all, the warm, unique scent that was purely Sara. His nose twitched, drawing it in, cataloging every note.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, “for asking me.”
“Thank you for saying yes.”
He leaned down.
The kiss was brief—just a press of lips, soft and careful. He kept his hands at his sides, kept his body still, kept every raging instinct on a brutally short leash. His mouth brushed hers once, twice, and then he pulled back before he could let it become something more.
Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. A flush had spread across her cheeks, and her breathing was uneven.
She looked beautiful. She looked like everything he’d ever wanted.
“Have a good day at school,” he said, his voice rough.
Her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she just stared at him, dazed, then a slow smile curved her lips.
“You too.” A pause. “I mean—have a good day at the tavern. Not school. You don’t go to school.” Her flush deepened. “You know what I mean.”
He felt something crack in his chest—something that had been locked down tight for six years. A smile, rusty and unfamiliar, tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I know what you mean.”
He forced himself to step back. She clutched the strap of her bag, her smile wide and wondering.
“Tuesday,” she said.
“Tuesday.”
He turned and walked away.
He didn’t look back—if he looked back, he’d go back, and if he went back, he wouldn’t be able to stop. The desire was still there, roaring through his body like wildfire, but it was tempered now by something else.
Hope.
He’d kissed her and stopped. He’d touched her and let go. He’d made a choice, a real choice, not one driven by instinct or mating urges or the mindless hunger that spring always brought.
Maybe Sara was right.
Maybe this was real.
