“Me?” He blinked at her innocently.
“You were counting tiles.”
“Was I?” There was a glint in his eyes that said he knew exactly what he was doing.
“How do you even cheat at a game where the tiles are always moving?”
He leaned one shoulder against the truck, tilting his head like he was sizing her up. “Everything’s always changing.”
Something about the way he said it made her breath hitch. Her skin prickled in the cooling air. He was watching her now like the game was still going, and she was the next move.
He stepped in closer, the space between them shrinking until her pulse had nowhere to go but wild.
“Some things don’t change,” she whispered.
“But don’t they?” His voice slipped under her skin like warm honey. His gaze dropped to her lips for a beat, then climbed back up to her eyes. “You’ve changed.”
“Have I?” She swallowed.
“Mmhmm.” He nodded, deliberate and slow. “Tonight, you helped me cheat, ignored a dozen safety codes, and drank tea made by a man with three felony convictions for conjuring.”
She laughed, the sound bubbling up without permission. “Technically, I was merely an accessory.”
“An adorable one.” He tucked her hair behind her ear.
Oh, she was in so much trouble.
“And you?” she asked, finding her voice again. “You used to be the guy who slammed the door in my face solely because I work for the government.”
He leaned forward, and she could smell the elixir on his breath.
“Maybe I was just afraid you’d see something you shouldn’t,” he said. “Maybe tile counting is just the start of the trouble I get into.”
Trouble. That was exactly what he was—trouble with a half-smile and a warm voice that lingered in her head too long after he spoke. She should step back, crack a joke, change the subject. She should remember that there were lines here—thick, neon-bright lines—about professionalism and distance and not letting herself get swept into moments like this.
This was worse than teaching someone how to wish. This was leaning into something that could tangle up everything she’d worked so hard to keep separate.
And yet…she didn’t move.
His hand slid to her jaw, thumb tracing the edge of her cheek, anchoring her as he tilted her mouth to his. His breath was warm against her lips, and the subtle tilt of his head promised the inevitable.
Every rational thought scattered, and suddenly, the idea of rule-breaking didn’t seem so bad.
He angled her mouth to his, and the world hushed in anticipation. Her pulse thundered, her stomach swooped, and then?—
His lips touched hers.
Gentle at first, as if testing the ground between them, then firmer, like he’d decided trouble was worth it after all.
He made a low sound deep in his throat, and then her back met the truck and his hands were in her hair, and there was no air between them anymore.
Suddenly, her hands were beneath his shirt, mapping the heat of his skin, his spine, the edge of his ribs, and she couldn’t remember why she’d ever told herself this was a bad idea.
Somewhere in the distance, the church bell tolled, and she absentmindedly thought that she hadn’t even realized somuch time had passed—that it was the hour already—until Ethan pulled away.
He rested their foreheads together. His breath tangled with hers. Her legs were unsteady, like the ground had shifted beneath their feet.
“What was the secret anyway?” she asked.
