We make our way to the register, my heart still tumbling about in my chest. As Michael heaves my basket up onto the counter, I can barely get my wallet out, I’m buzzing so much from our kiss. I hand my credit card over in a daze as the clerk scans my items.
“Oh, you’re a writer?” She places my writing books into the bag.
“Er, yes,” I mumble, acutely aware of Michael beside me.
“That’s so awesome. I’ve always dreamed of being a writer but never really gotten around to it.” She slides the bag across the counter to me. “Have a great night.”
I take the bag with a faint smile, feeling myself droop. What a timely reminder that I too used to only dream of writing and now I’m making it a reality. And kissing Michael is a sure-fire way to crush that dream, to see it dissolve into dust and scatter into the wind, until I’m right back where I started.
He turns to me as we step back out into the chilly air, pulling his beanie down onto his head and winding a scarf around his neck. While we were in there—forthreehours, I now realize—it’s gotten dark, and quite a bit colder. I attempt to pull my coat tighter but I’m struggling with the massive bag of books.
I’m just about to tell Michael I should go when he takes my bag of books to carry it for me—and my heart melts.
Shit. I am in so much trouble.
“You wanted to show me something?” I hear myself ask.
“Yeah, if you’re not in a hurry to leave?” His eyes are bright and excited, and I nod, powerless to walk away.
With my books tucked under his arm, he flags down a passing cab and we climb inside. And I realize too late that it wasnota good idea for me to get into a cab with him. The backseat is an even smaller space than the book aisle. I can smell his woodsy cologne and he’s within easy kissing distance. If he says anything even remotely sweet, I’ll lunge at him.
And if he tries to kiss me, I’m done for. I’ll be yanking my dress up my thighs faster than he can pay the driver.
I lean against the window, pressing my warm cheek against the cool glass, praying for strength as we head uptown. We sit in traffic for a while, but Michael doesn’t say anything—and he doesn’t touch me, which is both a relief and an overwhelming disappointment. He just gazes out the window in thought.
When we finally come to a stop, I stumble out of the cab, my head a cyclone of confusion.
No, I’m not confused, I tell myself firmly. I know what I’m doing: being friends with Michael, focusing on my writing, not wishing for another happy ending. We shared one little kiss but it’s over now. Everything is fine.
He gestures down the street with a secret smile. “This way.”
I follow him, intrigued. We turn a corner and that’s when I recognize we’re at Rockefeller Plaza. And as Michael leads me across the Plaza, weaving between tourists who are out despite the cold night air, I see why he’s taken me here. You can’t miss it: the Christmas tree, lit from top to bottom in a dazzling display of twinkling lights, right behind the ice rink.
“Wow,” I breathe as we reach the rink, gazing across at the tree. “It’s stunning.”
Michael sets the bag of books down at his feet and leans on the railing. “Yeah. I thought you might like to see it at night.”
I glance at him, watching as he shivers in the cold air, pulling his beanie down over his ears. He turns to me with a big, boyish smile, his dimple deep in his cheek, and my breath stutters. I can’t believe he remembered. My heart squeezes at how unbelievably sweet that is—at how sweetheis.
I can’t stop myself; I reach a hand up to his face, needing to touch him, to show him what this means to me. I run my thumb over the smooth skin of his cheek to his beard and keep it there, feeling the roughness of his beard against my palm. His eyes flutter closed as I touch him, and when I don’t remove my hand, he steps closer, slipping his arms around my waist and drawing my body to his.
Yep. I’m done for.
He gazes down at me, his eyes black and penetrating. His mouth opens, then closes, before he finally asks, “Can I kiss you?”
I nod breathlessly. Fuck, if he doesn’t kiss me I’m going to die.
But he does; he lowers his mouth to mine in a slow, sweet kiss that sends a shower of sparks through me. I circle my arms around his neck and tilt my head, melting into the warmth and softness of his lips. I’ve never kissed a guy with a beard before and there’s the most delicious tickle against my cheek. Something about that sends fire shooting down through my center, makes need bloom hot between my thighs.
Jesus Christ. I’m trying to keep it together, but it’s a losing battle. I let out a little moan against his lips and I feel him smile, tightening his arms around me. When his tongue dips into my mouth, seeking mine, my knees buckle and he has to hold me against him.
“Get a room!” a passer-by calls and we both laugh, drawing apart. But not too far; he rests his forehead against mine, gazing at me with dark eyes, his breath warm and sweet on my lips.
“I thought you just wanted to be friends,” he murmurs, and I giggle.
We stare at each other for a few moments, both of us grinning, figuring out our next move. Quite frankly, I just want to get him into bed, but…
I glance down at my stack of books at his feet with a heavy sigh. I hear the words from the clerk at Strand again—I’ve always dreamed of being a writer but never gotten around to it—and, with all my strength, I pull away. When I see the light dim in Michael’s eyes, I take a deep breath, letting the freezing air fill my lungs.
