The sound of the resort door opening and closing shattered the hazy cocoon around us. He drew away slowly, lightly catching my bottom lip with his teeth at the last second. We stared at each other, our breaths heaving.
“Oh,” was all I could manage.
Chapter Six
COLE
What the hell just happened?
After I dropped Adele off, our kiss played on repeat in my thoughts like a scratched record. Over and over again, looping back to the moment she leaned in, the feel of her mouth against mine, the press of her palm on my chest, and the soft sound when her breath hitched in her throat.
I’d kissed plenty of women. I’d had more than a small share of desire-hazed moments.
But I always kept my distance. It was easy. Or, at least, it had been easy. Until tonight.
Until Adele, with the quiet between us humming with tension, as if the air was holding its breath. I scrambled mentally, reaching to find my footing, for the version of myself that always knew what to say. The one who teased and flirted and never let things get past the surface. I managed, but barely.
Just before she stepped away, she looked back at me. Her gaze shifted from that startling vulnerability back to the familiar guardedness, as if clouds had drifted over to blot out the sunlight. She hadn’t run away, but it felt like she wanted to. Guilt twisted low in my gut.
Because that kiss was real, in a way I wasn’t used to. I’d kissed her like it meant something. Because it did.
She trusted me in that moment. Instead of honoring that, I pulled away. I threw up walls the second we were in my truck. I knew she could feel it. I could see it in her eyes.
You hurt her. You kissed her like it mattered and backed off like it didn’t.
I ran a hand through my hair as I drove home a little while later. The moon was low above the mountains against the late evening skyline in that smudgy color between day and night.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I asked aloud.“You shouldn’t have kissed her.”
I was full-on talking to myself now. I sighed.
“Fuck,” I muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Maybe Adele had her scars. But me? Teasing was my shield. My charm was the sword. It had always been enough to keep the world at arm’s length. And yet, Adele had slipped past all that, somehow.
When I walked into the resort a few minutes later, it was mostly quiet. I headed straight for the kitchen. My mom was there, finishing the last of the dishes, her sleeves rolled up.
“Hey,” I said lightly.
“Adele home safe?” she asked without looking away from the sink.
“Of course,” I said.
She turned off the faucet and dried her hands, but her gaze was sharp, always far too perceptive. I could feel her tuning in to me even before she turned to face me fully.
“You like Adele,” she said simply.
She spoke as casually as if she were commenting on the weather and offering up a concrete, factual observation.
I opened my mouth to dodge, to deflect with a quip—because that’s what I excelled at—but I didn’t. Instead, I shrugged.
My mother’s expression softened as she tilted her head slightly. “It’s okay, Cole.”
“What’s okay?” I asked, striving to keep my tone light. Inside, I was scrambling again. I didn’t like being seen this clearly.
She hung the towel on a hook by the sink, before she faced me squarely. Hands clasped in front of her, her lips curled in a small smile. “You’re one of my middle children,” she began.
I blinked. “One of them?”
