His lips taste the same. It’s the first conscious thought Ihave when our lips meet. But then, his hand drifts from my hair, around to cup my jaw like he needs to feel all of me to make sure I’m real, and I don’t think anymore.
His hand on my lower back presses into me like a plea. “Come here,” he whispers into my mouth, and I laugh by his ear as he helps me climb on top of him, paintbrush tossed to the side.
When I settle on top of him, he doesn’t rush in for more like I expect him to. Instead, he brushes front pieces of hair behind my ears, letting his eyes study me like he’s been waiting for the chance.
“I miss you, Blair,” he says gently, brushing his thumb over my cheekbone.
“Don’t miss me anymore. I’m right here,” I whisper, voice cracking.
I bend down to reach his lips and the kiss is less hungry this time. The first kiss felt like grasping hold of a fleeting moment. This one feels like coming home.
Our bodies meld like the memory foam of our skin, and blood, and muscle is made up of the outline of each other, and after a few minutes, I pull back to look at him, our noses still brushing. “I’ve missed you too, Declan. But what is this? What are we doing?”
“What we should have been doing four years ago,” he replies without missing a beat.
Our voices are hushed tones in the lamp’s glow. Like if we talk any louder, we’ll realize what we’re saying and revert to not saying anything at all.
“And why weren’t we?” I plead, not letting myself trust this yet.
“You know why,” he says, his voice softening, eyes melting into mine. I take advantage of the opportunity to stare at him.His swollen lips and searching green eyes, and something new above his left eyebrow, so small I never noticed it until now—a tiny scar. I brush my finger over the raised skin, swallowing the regret of our past.
What I would give to have been there for him in recovery.
His eyes dart between mine, reading the fear in them.
“I was friends with you for twelve years, Blair. And then I had none of you at all. But I can’t do it again. I can’t be your friend and pretend like I’m not picturing my life with you.”
My face tingles in disbelief. All I ever wanted was to be wanted by him. Even when I hated myself for it.
“Then don’t pretend anymore,” I beg in a broken, barely audible voice. “Why would you pretend?”
“Because I thought you were leaving for New York soon. And I want you to stay, but I thought it would be like the college fight all over again. You wanting to pursue your dreams. Me standing in the way. Asking you to stay for me. I didn’t want to lose you again.”
I sigh, searching his entire face in disbelief. “Did you ever consider that I wanted to leave because I couldn’t bear the thought of living here if I could only be your friend?”
His brows furrow.
A shocked chuckle escapes me.
“You didn’t see how much of my indecision with the cottage came from it being across the street from you?”
Declan’s mouth parts to speak but nothing comes out, like he’s so stunned by the realization that a cough of a laugh escapes instead. “I must be daft, I guess.”
“Yeah,” I chortle. “And British.”
The corner of his mouth curls.
“Declan, why would I not be thrilled to be given a beach-side cottage?”
“Because it wasn’t what you planned. Because you’ve been dreaming of this job and moving to New York for years. You can see my confusion, right?”
“Yes. Totally, I do. Because all of those things are true. But the truer thing, the little detail I had to leave out when talking to you, was that I couldn’t stand living in Seabrook if it wasn’t going to bewithyou.” The words are irreversibly out, and I am weightless, untethered from anything solid as I wait for his response.
“Then let’s stop pretending.” He brushes his thumb under my eye, wiping away a tear I didn’t feel. Then he presses a kiss to the soft skin of my cheek. The right and then, slowly, the left. The grazing warmth of his lips sends tiny fizzes exploding through my nerves, and I shiver.
“Come to my dad’s charity gala with me,” he whispers.
“What?”
