I weave sideways across the garage, slipping between a pair of mechanics reenacting one of Grady’s overtakes, ducking under an outstretched headset cable, squeezing around a rollingtrolley piled with what might or might not be brake ducts. No one notices. I’m invisible in the celebration.
When I reach Hutch, I don’t waste time thinking. I catch his wrist, still cool from the champagne bottle he’s holding, and tug him behind the row of stacked tires and a tall cabinet of spare wheel guns. A sliver of shadow within shouting distance of the circus, but hidden enough for one reckless minute.
“Kip,” he starts, breathless from laughing, from adrenaline, from—I hope—seeing me.
I don’t let him finish.
I kiss him.
It’s quick and hungry and so fucking overdue, the kind of kiss that steals my breath and gives it back tenfold. For a second he’s frozen, surprised, maybe. But then his hand fists in the back of my shirt and he’s kissing me back and the only thought in my head isdon’t let this end.
When we break apart, he’s breathing hard, our foreheads nearly touching. The empty bottle slips from his hand and hits the concrete with a heavy thunk, rolling in a lazy circle before settling.
His breath ghosts across my mouth as he grins. “So, was that a congratulations or a challenge?”
“Depends,” I murmur, tugging him a little closer. “Which one gets me a second kiss?”
His smile broadens, dazzling and dangerous. “Both.”
When he leans back in, I meet him halfway.
This kiss is unhurried, deeper. Less adrenaline, more intent. A promise instead of a collision. His fingers slide up the back of my neck, and I swear the garage could collapse around us and I wouldn’t notice.
“I hope you know this is going to set the whole place on fire,” Hutch says. “Rumors, HR panic attacks. Theworks.”
I meet his eyes, feeling something in me lock into place. “Let them talk. Grady already suspects something, and he didn’t sound ready to hit the emergency button. In fact, he thinks the team will happy for us.”
Hutch blinks once, slow and deliberate, that little tell he gets when his brain’s already sprinting ahead of us.
“But if you’re worried about HR, we can give Elodie a heads-up before it snowballs,” I continue. “She’ll keep them from losing their minds.”
Elodie is Jacques’ daughter and the second-in-command at LaRue Motorsports. I swear, the woman’s a force of nature. If we get her on our side, it’ll be smooth sailing from there on out.
“Good idea.” He lets out a long breath, the tension easing from his shoulders as he reaches up to brush his thumb along my jaw, unable to stop himself. “We should probably go back before someone realizes we’ve vanished.”
“Probably,” I agree, not moving an inch.
He chuckles. “They’re going to send a search party.”
“Then we should definitely pick up where we left off later.” I give his collar a quick tug. “Somewhere without an audience.”
His grin turns wicked and tender all at once. “Name the place.”
“Later,” I promise, pulse still hammering. “I’m not done with you.”
“Good,” he says, his thumb sliding from my jaw down my chest then catching briefly at my hip before he steps back. “Because I’m fairly certain we’ve only just started.”
They’re my own words from the inn, said teasingly in the dark. But coming from him now, it’s not a joke anymore.
We step back into the noise, the lights, the celebration, people calling our names, champagne fizzing through the air. But all I feel is that line, echoingthrough me.
Just started.
And suddenly, the end of this weekend looks a whole lot like the beginning of us.
EPILOGUE
Hutch
