I stare at the wooden table top too hard, scrutinizing it. Like it has the answers I need.
Then, a low sound cuts through the quiet.
Music.
I open my eyes. Donovan’s at the counter, phone in hand, something slow and steady filling the room. Something you can move to without thinking.
Johnny Cash’sRing of Fire.
He crosses the distance, holding out his huge hand. “We missed our first dance last night, you know.” It comes out like gravel and velvet all at once.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.
“Probably not. But when have good decisions been our thing, Marielle?”
My name—my real name—on his lips does something to me. It puts a throb deep in my lower core, where I can still feel what we did last night. Makes me want to do it again, no matter the outcome.
“Are you sure we didn’t have a first dance?” I ask, taking his hand, savoring its strong warmth. “I mean, Idoremember a lot of dancing.”
His laugh rumbles in his throat as he pulls me closer. Not all the way but just enough to make the thin sliver of air between us feel unnecessary.
“Pretty sure we didn’t dance after,” he says, hand sliding into the hollow of my back with a firm pressure that remains polite but loaded with dark promises.
“I get the impression you remember exactly what we did after,” I whisper, sliding closer, sighing low and satisfied when our bodies touch.
“I remember everything,” he says. “Because none of it’s forgettable… not with you, Burgundy.”
Something breaks loose behind my chest. I don’t know what to say next. Too many thoughts fight for my attention.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, his mouth closer to mine than it should be. But I don’t back away.
I shake my head. “That we shouldn’t have done what we did. That it was more my fault than I’ve admitted up to this point…” I look away for a moment, cheeks flushed. “That I wouldn’t change any of it.”
He sighs low and seductive. Almost a growl.
“But I do wish I had never drug you into this.”
His hand comes up, pushing my hair gently off my face. “You keep telling me what I should and shouldn’t want. But what if there’s no rules for this? No right or wrong? Just us both working through this—together?”
His mouth is so close to mine, I can feel the heat of his warm breath. I lean up on my tiptoes, covering his lips with mine—gentle, exploratory.
A soft groan escapes his lips as they move. Not taking too much, just enjoying the moment. Then, he pulls back half an inch, asking breathlessly, “You remember that?”
My voice catches in my throat. I can’t speak. Instead, I let my hand rest on his shoulder, staring up at him and nodding once.
The music moves around us, slow and measured. He shifts first, guiding me. I follow because it’s easier than thinking. And because somehow, despite everything that’s happened, it feels right.
We continue like that through one song, two, three—quiet and close.
Then my hand slides from his shoulder to the back of his neck. My fingers brush his hair, and something snaps.
A flash. His mouth at my ear.
My laugh.
His hand tightening on my waist.
“Careful,” he murmured.
