I didn’t mean to move closer, but I did. The air between us grew heavy. Rosemary and the faint sweetness of her perfume tangled together, grounding me and making me dizzy all at once.
She tilted her chin up, pretending to look unimpressed. “Are you gonna move, or are you waiting for the kitchen to catch fire?”
I smiled, slow and deliberate. “Depends. You planning to kiss me or keep talking?”
Her breath caught. That half-second, that hesitation, hit me harder than anything. And then, like gravity had its own plan, I stepped forward, bracing my hands on either side of her. The warmth of her body radiated through the space between us. I could feel her pulse where my thumb brushed her hip.
She’d looked up at me like she wasn’t sure whether to roll her eyes or kiss me first. I didn’t give her the chance to decide. I lifted her onto the counter, and she laughed, bright and unguarded, a sound that rewired something deep inside me.
“Hunter!” she said, half laughing, half breathless. “The food—”
“Can wait,” I murmured, voice lower than I meant. “You were staring.”
“Was not.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, leaning closer. “Is that why you’re blushing?”
Her lips parted, and that was all the invitation I needed. I kissed her before she could say a word, and everything else fell away.
The kiss started softly. Then it deepened, slow and certain, the kind of kiss that felt like a promise you weren’t ready to make but couldn’t help believing in.
Her hands slid into my hair, fingers curling at the nape of my neck. The world narrowed. No noise, no fear, no past. Only her.
Then the smoke alarm went off.
We both jumped, laughter and chaos colliding as I swore under my breath, grabbed a towel, and started waving smoke like an idiot.
“You distracted me,” I yelled over the shrieking.
“Oh, sure,” she said, laughing so hard she nearly doubled over, “blame the woman!”
“I’m serious! You’ve got that…” I pointed between us, “…that look. It’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” she said, still grinning. “I was just standing here.”
The alarm finally cut out, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. The only sound left was her laughter, now booming throughout the kitchen.
“Exactly my point.” I tossed the towel aside, stepped in close again, and returned my hands to her waist. “You done making fun of me?”
“Not even close,” she’d said, smiling up at me.
“Good.” I’d kissed her again, just because I could.
We ended up ditching the food completely, ordering pizza instead. She sat cross-legged on the floor in one of my old hoodies, eating straight from the box while I grabbed us a couple of beers. The apartment smelled faintly of smoke, but it didn’t matter.
Now, hours later at my desk, I could still hear her laugh.
After the divorce, I told myself I’d never have that kind of life again. It felt like walking through a minefield, never sure which step would set everything off. The end wasn’t a single explosion, just a slow unraveling, a thousand small cracks until there was nothing left to hold.
I promised myself I wouldn’t make the same mistakes. I told myself not to try again. I’d had enough of disappointment, of silence that hardens into walls. It felt safer not to want what I couldn’t keep.
But then there was Camille. The wild curls. The loud laugh that turned heads for all the right reasons. The way she looked at me left me feeling like maybe I wasn’t beyond repair.
I ran a hand over my beard, exhaling hard.
The guys at work would laugh if they knew what was in my head. Probably call me crazy for losing it over a woman I’d barely known for a few months. And maybe they’d be right.
But the truth was simple. I couldn’t get her out of my head.
