I want Kate Stanley more than I want air to breathe. It’s almost pathetic how gone I am for this woman. I’ve dreamt of this moment in ways I can’t admit. But it can’t be like this…with an audience. It can’t be because of some fake, stupid house rule. If I’m going to get Kate Stanley to give me a shot—arealshot—I need it to be perfect.
Cradling her face in my hands, I stare at her full lips. They part slightly as my breath trembles out of me. Her eyes widen at my gaze before she quickly shuts them and presses her lips back together. They’re a raspberry pink tonight with a light shimmer. So distracting. So tempting. “I’ll give you spontaneous.”
In an instant, I wrap an arm around her waist, dipping her low underneath the mistletoe. Her face is stunned at the swift motion. The house is giggling and gasping all around us.
Then…I kiss her on the cheek.
Chapter six
Kate
“The cheek? What’s sowrong with that?” Emma shrugs at this mind-boggling information, setting up her paints and brushes for the class day, waving her paintbrush in the air as if to tell me I’mfreaking out for nothing.
“Um, nothing. I just thought it was interesting.” I shrug back. Maybe I am freaking out for nothing.
“Interesting?” She muses, crossing her arms over her chest, accentuating that little bump underneath her paint-splattered apron.
“Not interesting,” I deflect. “Weird. I thought it was weird.”Just play it cool, Kate. You’re probably overthinking this like you do everything else.
“Did you want him to kiss you on the lips?” The paintbrushes in her hands swish toward me, pointing at me. Accusing me.
“No!” I yell abruptly. I don’t sound convincing at all. Did I want him to kiss me? Surely not. This is Malcolm we’re talking about.
“Are you sure about that?” Planting her hands on her hips, the brushes stick out like a tail on one side.
“Yes, yeah. I’m sure. Totally.”
“Well then, there’s nothing to worry about. Maybe he was just trying to be a gentleman.” She waves me off, brushes now being placed in their appropriate cups on the table.
Nothing to worry about.Perfect.
I just spilled every single detail surrounding the mistletoe fiasco the other night, and this is what I get? I knew I should’ve had this conversation with Margaret. At least with our eighty-year-old librarian an aloof response wouldn’t be as baffling. But Emma here is supposed to be my friend. Malcolm’s friend too! Yes, I came to her because I need someone level-headed to discuss this with. But I half-expected her to at least ask me what his breath smelled like.Mint-infused brandy.Refreshing and spicy swirled together in an invigorating concoction. My mouth waters at the thought of it.
“What is it?” She eyes the thumbnail I’m now biting.
I yank my hand away from my mouth and wipe the dampness from the corners of my lips.What is going on with me?“Nothing.”
“Are you sure you didn’t want more than a cheeker?” She raises an eyebrow at me. It’s just as accusatory as the brushes. I might as well have a spotlight on me in the middle of an interrogation room.
“I’m sure.” My words linger in the air, like my thought is incomplete. I wrap my arms around my waist and squeeze. A hug would be really nice right now. “I’m sure,” I repeat. I have no idea what I wanted to happen. I just know that, since that moment under the mistletoe, my feelings toward Malcolm and everything that has to do with him has changed, and I have no idea what to do with them. My brain keeps getting flooded with Malcolm in ways I’ve never thought before. Excitement and confusion are battling it out inside my chest like a 90’s filmdance-off, pulling out wild, unrealistic moves with me caught in the middle, stunned and sometimes breathless.
I don't know whether to embrace these thoughts or shove them deep down inside me. Heat flushes my neck and cheeks at the recent change in my daydreams. When I used to imagine a paramedic jumping out of a moving ambulance to rescue me from a car wreck, the person always wore sunglasses, and the sun was so bright I could never make out their features. But we’d kiss, as if my rescuer was the Prince Charming I was waiting for. It was an odd dream, but I grew attached to it, savoring it every time it happened. But then two days ago, the rescuer was no longer wearing a medic uniform. No, he was wearing a fishing shirt and khakis, sliding on his knees across the grass to pull me out of the broken window. And instead of sunglasses, it was a set of piercing blue eyes gazing down at me. Eyes I see every day. And just as I was preparing tokissmy rescuer, I woke up in a puddle of sweat and gasping for air. Blood was coursing through my veins like it needed to revive all my organs.
There’s no denying that the rescuer was Malcolm. And the effects it had on me physically were jarring. Every part of me twisted and burned, making me feel almost uncontrollable. I’ve never had such an episode likethatbefore. And I’ve never had an episode over Malcolm, for crying out loud!
“Well, there you go.” Emma pulls me out of my thoughts just in time. Any longer and I might’ve spontaneously combusted in the middle of her classroom. “It happened. It’s over.”
“Andcheekeris weird. Please don’t ever say that again.”
Emma snorts and unties her apron, the sweet baby bump no longer hidden by paint splatter. She has that sweet glow about her, but I’m not allowed to mention it. Apparently, it’s sweat, and it’s annoying, so it’s better left unmentioned. “Sorry,” she laughs. “Come on, I’m starving.”
We make our way down the hall to the break room as students shove their way around each other, almost knocking us down as they race to the cafeteria. Gertrude, the cafeteria lady, only bakes one large batch of the good brownies on Mondays. They’re basically crack. If you don’t get there in time, you’re stuck with a fruit bar. Why even get dessert at that point?
We’re the first ones to snag a table for lunch in our break room. Half of the faculty stays in the building for lunch, and the other half tends to be as antisocial as they possibly can by going to a coffee shop or eating in their cars.
“Is Sarah Kim joining you for camp?” Emma takes a seat at the big, round table in the center of the room.
“She is. She’s ourteam assistant.It’s pretty adorable, honestly. She’ll do anything she can for a chance to include sports in her college admissions packet.” I shake my head and join Emma at the table.
