I kiss him again, deeper this time, refusing to hold myself back. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, steady and sure, and when he kisses me back, it’s with the same intensity I feel burning in my chest. No hesitation. No pulling away. Just him, meeting me exactly where I am.
Something in me settles and soars all at once. For the first time, it doesn’t feel like I’m too much, like I have to dull the edges of what I feel to make it easier for someone else to hold. He takes it, all of it, and gives it right back.
When I finally pull away, it’s slow, reluctant. Our lips brush once more before I lean back just enough to look at him. His eyes—bright, green, steady—are locked on mine, full of something so open and certain it makes my chest feel too tight to contain it.
For a second, I forget everything else.
Then reality creeps in at the edges, soft but insistent.
I huff out a quiet breath, my thumb brushing along his jaw as I ease back. “Alright,” I murmur, tapping his knee. “As much as I’d love to keep doing this…”
He groans, tipping his head back. “Such a tease.”
“We’re gonna be late.” I push to my feet, grabbing my keys before turning back and holding out my hand. “C’mon.”
He sighs dramatically, but there’s no real resistance as he takes my hand, letting me pull him up. Cryptid lets out a loud, offended meow as he’s displaced, hopping down with a flick of his tail.
“Alright,” Ashton says, reaching for his jacket, a lingering flush still warming his cheeks. “This better be worth it.”
I just grin, tugging him toward the door.
It will be.
Chapter Forty
Ashton
Thefrigidlakecrashesin towering waves against the shore as we drive along Lakeshore Avenue, icicles clinging to the pier like glass. The sky is a flat stretch of gray, heavy and endless. My foot taps restlessly against the floor of Troy’s van as he drives.
I hate surprises.
A frown tugs at my lips when he pulls into the lot of Black Cat Brewery, easing into a spot among a sea of cars. I recognize one of them as Phoebe’s beat-up Jeep. Confusion and uncertainty knot together in my stomach.
“Uh… what’s going on?” I ask, glancing around. “You said the brewery closed early today.”
“We did,” he says easily, already reaching for the door.
That… doesn’t answer my question.
I climb out of the van, the cold biting at my face as I follow him across the lot, my anxiety building with each step. “Troy,” I press, jogging a little to keep up with him, “what are we doing here?”
He glances at me, a suspicious twinkle glimmering in his warm brown eyes. “We’re having Thanksgiving dinner.”
I blink at him. “What? I thought we were having Chinese takeout.”
He just smiles, leaning in to press a quick kiss to my cheek. “I lied.”
Before I can even process that, he’s ushering me inside.
Warmth hits me first—then noise.
Voices. Laughter. The clatter of dishes.
I stop dead in my tracks.
The entire taproom has been transformed. All the tables have been pushed together into one long stretch, covered in food. Steam curls into the air, plates and silverware set neatly at each seat. My eyes dart across it all, the smell hitting me all at once, rich and savory. Mac and cheese. Roasted vegetables. Fresh rolls. Turkey, golden and glistening, carved and seasoned with herbs.
Imani stands at the table, setting down a dish. Her apron is stained from a full day of cooking, and when she looks up and sees me frozen in the doorway, she offers a small, knowing smile. Her lips are painted a bold, vibrant orange.
