She laughs softly, rubbing her palms against her sleeves. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
I shake my head once. There is no point in telling her the truth. It won’t do me or her any good.
Her shoulders relax, just a fraction. “Good. I just needed some air.” She gestures vaguely behind her. “It’s warm in there, a bit too loud, and I might’ve had a drink that was stronger than advertised.”
Her voice fills the space easily, like silence makes her uncomfortable. It’s quite the opposite for me.
I should leave. The mission is toast, there is nothing keeping me here any longer, yet I still find myself staying.
She’s the first person I’m interacting with, this close and personal, in a really long time, so I let myself indulge, even just for a few more minutes.
“I’m Kate, short for Katherine. But only my mother uses the full version, and only when she’s disappointed in me, which is often.” She introduces herself and then waits, but I don’t respond. Her mouth quirks. “Okay. So you’re the strong, silent type. Noted.”
Kate? Sweet, strong, charismatic. It suits her.
When I fail to give a name in response, she continues undeterred. “It’s my birthday. My best friend, Addy—the one Iwas with in the elevator—just ditched me to fuck some guy she met while away at work, leaving me all alone on my big day.” She pouts.
That earns her a reaction. It’s not much, just a subtle shift of my weight and a tightening in my chest I don’t recognize right away.
“December birthday,” she continues, unbothered by my silence. “Which is both magical and emotionally devastating. Everyone forgets it because Christmas exists, but also everything smells like cinnamon, so it balances out.”
The wind lifts, tugging her hair loose. She tucks it behind her ear, unaware of the way my eyes track the movement automatically, the way my body registers it as a point of focus.
“Do you hate Christmas?” she asks, tilting her head. “You look like a man who avoids holiday cheer on principle.”
My jaw tightens, and she takes note of this. “Oh,” she adds quickly. “Okay. We don’t have to unpack that. I overshare. It’s a character flaw.”
She laughs again, softer this time, and shifts closer—close enough that her sleeve brushes my arm.
“You smell like my favorite season,” she murmurs, then freezes. “That came out wrong. Or right. I don’t know. Ignore me.”
I don’t ignore her. I look at her.Really look.Her eyes widen slightly under the weight of it, breath hitching when she realizes she has my full attention.
“I talk when I’m nervous,” she confesses. “And when I’m not nervous. And when someone is standing silently beside me, smelling like my favorite thing in the world.”
I exhale through my nose. It’s a quiet sound, almost a laugh.
Her face lights up like she’s won something. She swallows, stepping even closer—close enough that her breath warms the space between us. Her gaze flicks to my mouth, back to my eyes, and back to my mouth again before she kisses me.
It’s impulsive and hits like a live wire. All I feel is heat, breath, and the way she melts into me without resistance. The world narrows, and the city fades away as its noise fades into the background.
I should push her away. I know better than to indulge. Instead, my hand comes up, fingers threading into her hair, holding her steady as I take control of the kiss. She gasps softly against my mouth, hands curling into my jacket like she needs something solid to anchor herself.
She breaks away first, breathless, laughing quietly like she can’t quite believe herself. “I’m sorry. I—“
I don’t let her complete that sentence as I kiss her again. Harder this time.
She makes a sound low in her throat—one that goes straight through me—and suddenly, restraint feels optional instead of mandatory. I back her against the wall, using my body to shield her from the wind, the world, and anything else that might interrupt.
Her hands slide under my shirt, tentative at first, then bolder when I don’t stop her. My mouth follows the line of her jaw and her throat—the pulse there beating fast and wild.
She smells like oranges, heat, and want. I angle her head back just enough to deepen the kiss, slow it down, make her feel the difference between what she offered and what I’m willing to give. She makes a small, surprised sound, and it goes straight through me.
I don’t rush. I never do. I take my time showing her how this works,how I work,letting my mouth move against hers with measured intent, drawing it out until her grip tightens, until her body presses closer without her realizing she’s doing it.
When I pull back, her eyes are unfocused, breathing shallow. My jacket slips from my shoulders first, hitting the concrete somewhere behind us. Her hands follow instinctively, palms flattening against my chest like she’s checking I’m real. I let her touch, explore, and think she’s in control.
I step in, backing her toward the wall, one arm braced beside her head, my body close enough that she can feel the heat of me without being crushed by it. Close enough that every breath she takes drags my scent into her lungs.
