Then I slowly set it in the box, right on top of the picture.
I put the lid on…
And tuck the box back onto the shelf.
She’s sittingon the couch, her fabric spread out in front of her and?—
“This again?”
Her head jerks in my direction, guilt spreading across her face as she snags the remote and pauses the documentary.
On World War Two.
“Which one is it this time?” I ask, walking to the couch and sinking down next to her.
Our thighs brush and I feel that contact like wildfire licking through my veins.
The color rises in her cheeks as she looks over at me. “What?”
“Which documentary are you watching today?”
“This one is on the women who helped win the war,” she says softly. “Working at home, nursing on the battlefields, spying, picking up arms.” Her mouth curves. “Generally kicking ass on all fronts.”
I tuck one of her curls behind her ear. “Women tend to do that.”
Warm eyes on mine. “You think Coach Dee will be my friend?”
“What?”
“She’s kind of my hero.” More pink on her cheeks.
“I could see that.”
“Even if I don’t know how to skate?”
I laugh, shift a little closer. “Even then.”
She huffs out a laugh, and we’re so close now it glazes over my lips. “Do you think you could teach me?”
“To skate?”
A nod.
I grin, brush my knuckles over her cheek, down her throat. “So now we’re talking about trading Skating Skills for Braiding Skills?”
“Um, yes?”
“Then I accept.”
“You”—her brows drag together—“accept what exactly?”
“This,” I whisper.
And finally,finally, I give in.
I lean down and press my lips to hers.
She gasps and I taste her surprise on my tongue, but it’s only for a second before she melts against me.
