Tiny footsteps slapped against the hallway floor.
We both froze.
A second later, Miles’s sleepy voice floated in, closer than it should’ve been. “Uncle Noah? I heard talking.”
“Shit,” I breathed, tearing myself away from her like it physically hurt.
Em dropped her legs so fast her heels smacked the cabinet. She winced, hands flying to smooth her hair, her lips swollen and pink, eyes blown wide. I probably didn’t look any better—heart hammering, shirt wrinkled where she’d grabbed it, lungs refusing to work properly.
Miles padded into the kitchen in his Avengers pajamas, hair sticking up on one side, clutching his stuffed dinosaur.
He blinked at us, completely unimpressed, then squinted. “Are we having a snack without me? Not fair.”
15
EM
Miles’s question shot through me like a bucket of ice water.
Snack.
Right. That was what normal adults did in kitchens at midnight. Not make out like teenagers on the verge of making terrible, wonderful decisions.
“I, uh, yeah, bud.” My voice came out two octaves higher than normal. I cleared my throat. “Just talking about…food.”
Nailed it.
Noah still stood between my knees, his hands hovering at my hips like he didn’t know whether to yank me back in or shove himself all the way across the room. His pupils were still blown, lips swollen, hair sticking up in about four different directions where my fingers had been.
I’d done that. To his hair. To his mouth. I’d kissed Noah Abbott, famous NFL player.
I was going to die.
“We woke you up?” Noah asked, doing a better job than I was at pretending we were fine. His voice was only slightly rough, like he’d swallowed gravel.
Miles rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and yawned. “I had a dream Sassy was a dragon.” He squinted at us. “Why is Aunt Em on the counter?”
Fantastic question.
“I’m…tall now,” I blurted. “I live here now. On the counter. It’s my new home.”
Noah choked. Actually choked.
“Em was helping me with the dishes,” he said quickly, moving away from me so fast I almost reached for him on instinct. “I’m not good at…stacking.”
“Yeah,” I added weakly. “He needed a supervisor.”
Miles considered this like it made perfect sense. “Can we have a snack?”
“Sure,” I said, grateful for a task that didn’t involve my tongue down his uncle’s throat. “What’re you thinking? Apple slices? Crackers? Air?”
He made a face. “Air’s not a snack.”
I hopped down from the counter as casually as possible. My legs were jelly. My knees might never recover.
I busied myself at the pantry so he couldn’t see my face, which probably looked like I’d finished a three-hour make-out montage. Behind me, Noah moved. His presence shifted to the other side of the island like we’d silently agreed on opposite corners. Not touching him was the right choice. I’d felt how thick and strong andhardhe was…everywhere. And the desperate sound he made while kissing me?
I’d replay that for years.
