It’s not lewd.
But it’s not rushed, either.
His lips are warm.Firm.Certain.
There’s a softness to it that catches me off guard.
A tenderness that says this isn’t performance.
It’s a statement.
When he pulls back, my knees feel suspiciously weak.
“You ready to find our seats?”he asks.
I nod.
I can’t speak.Not yet.
And I don’t look at Tom Gilbert.
Or at Darla.
Hell, I don’t look at anyone.
I just let J.T.’s hand slide from my neck to my lower back as he guides me toward our table.
And in that moment—walking across the dining room floor with every whisper dying behind us—I realize something with startling clarity.
I am not alone if J.T.is with me.
And I think I know what my answer is going to be.
Chapter6
J.T
Imade sure our table was the last one in the room.
On purpose.
Took a call.Pulled a favor.
Shifted a seating chart that some poor volunteer had probably spent hours color-coding.
I don’t like Kelly feeling like she’s on display.
Not when half this town has already dissected her marriage over potluck casseroles and church coffee.
Not when she’s walking in here alone for the first time.
Though in that dress?
Christ.
She’s catching attention whether I want her to or not.
I keep my hand on the small of her back as we cross the room.
