Joe glanced at her. “I thought we were going to the library.”
“We are,” she said, too quickly. Then she tilted her head and flashed him a look that was half-challenge, half-trouble. “But I want to show you something first.”
He slowed near the turnoff marked by a weathered wooden sign:Scenic Overlook.
“Yep, right there,” Krista confirmed.
Joe turned the wheel. “Are you kidnapping me?”
“I’m borrowing you,” she corrected. “Though we could use a blindfold if you want.”
The narrow road climbed, trees crowding in. Through the rearview mirror, the lake flashed blue and green between branches. Joe kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. He couldn’t stop noticing her beside him—her bare knee angled toward him, her hand on the center console. He could picture himself reaching for it, steadying it in his own.
“Just a little bit further,” she coaxed, snapping his mind back to the climbing drive.
“You’re being suspicious,” he said.
She shot him a smile that said,Just wait.
The road ended in a small gravel turnout overlooking the whole town. Maple Falls spread below them like a postcard with its clustered rooftops, the ribbon of Oak Way, the lake gleaming on one side like polished glass. He could even see the Hideaway’s deck, the dock, the kayaks lined up along the water’s edge.
Krista unbuckled before the SUV had fully stopped. “Come on.”
Joe cut the engine as she stepped out into the sunshine, stretching, taking in the view.
Up here, the breeze was cooler, carrying the clean summer scent of wildflowers, sunbaked earth, and sweet grass. She walked to the wooden guardrail and rested her forearms against it, gazing down at the town like she was taking inventory of everything she loved.
Joe joined her.
“What do you think? It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?”
“Stunning,” he replied—and he wasn’t sure whether he meant the view, or her.
She nodded. “It’s where I come when everything feels too loud.”
Her fingers curled around the rail. “I’m not very good at taking breaks,” she admitted. “Not when there’s always something I should be doing.”
“You’re allowed down time,” Joe said quietly.
She huffed a laugh. “Says the man who lives out of a backpack.”
His lips curved. “Okay. Fair.”
She finally turned to him, and whatever was in her eyes wasn’t teasing. It felt like a question she didn’t quite want to ask.
Joe didn’t answer it with words. He lifted his hand slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted, and brushed a loose curl back from her cheek. His knuckles grazed her skin. She closed her eyes, like the touch landed somewhere deeper inside.
She stepped closer, closing the last inch herself. Their mouths met in a tender kiss—lips brushing, tongues mingling. It felt like a long summer afternoon stretched out, time bending around them. Krista pressed closer, and Joe felt the heat of her through denim and cotton. His hand slid up her side, beneaththe edge of her shirt to warm skin. Her stomach tightened under his palm. She shivered, and he swallowed.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, then traced slow, deliberate kisses along her jaw. Her head tipped back instinctively, offering him more. His hand skimmed up her back, feeling the shape of her shoulder blades, the heat beneath thin fabric.
He wanted more—wanted to turn her, press her against the guardrail, take his time like they’d be together forever.
Instead, he forced himself to pull back half an inch, breathing hard.
Krista blinked up at him, lips swollen, eyes bright. Her cheeks were flushed in a way that made him feel proud and feral all at once.
He rested his hands on her hips. “If we don’t stop,” he said roughly, “we’re not making it to the library.”
