But he didn’t go anywhere.
He kissed me again, slower this time, deeper in a different way. Less frantic. Like he had all the time in the world to map the shape of my lips and feel of my tongue.
When he finally forced himself to step back, it looked physically painful. His hands dragged down my arms before letting go entirely.
“If I don’t leave right now,” he said, his voice rough, “I’m not going to.”
My breath was still uneven. “But you have things to do. Important things.”
A flicker of temptation crossed his face, but he shut it down as quickly as it had appeared.
“Right. Promises I made. Can’t let my granddad down.”
“He seems pretty forgiving,” I argued, knowing I wouldn’t win.
Cormac huffed a laugh. “He is, but I’m still going.”
He took one step back, then another, like each one required effort. His gaze lingered on my ponytail he’d undoubtedly messed up with his wayward hands, my hot cheeks, kiss-swollen lips.
Then he shook his head, tearing his gaze away. “I’ll see you later.”
“Later, Maccie.”
He turned and jogged down the path toward the main house. Halfway there, he glanced back.
I was still standing exactly where he’d left me.
And I was smiling.
I touched my mouth again, warmth blooming through me.
Yeah.
Definitely not a one-time thing.
Chapter Twenty-six
Cormac
Alongtimeago,my dad had built my mom a kitchen table out of old barn wood. A heavy thing, solid enough you could probably park a truck on it without a sliver of complaint.
When I was a kid, the six of us fit around it fine. We’d scoot over when my grandparents came over, and it’d worked.
Then the family had started growing.
Caleb had Jesse. Hannah brought Remi home, and a couple years later, Silas showed up loud and wild, followed by mellow little Brooks. Phoebe married Deke, then came little Abigail. Caleb married Alice, and now we had Desmond too. We’d more than doubled in size but continued scooting over, laughing when we bumped elbows.
One by one, chairs got dragged in from other rooms, another place setting got laid out, and soon, it was like it had been there all along.
The table hadn’t changed. Same boards. Same burn mark from when Hannah had forgotten a hot pan. Same gouge Caleb had put in it with a pocketknife. And it kept holding more of us.
Tonight—a random Wednesday, no special occasion—it would be full again.
My siblings, the kids, and their spouses were spread around the kitchen and spilling into the living room when I arrived. Silas was chasing Jesse with maniacal glee. Brooks was building wooden blocks with Caleb and Remi on the rug. Desmond was snuggled up with Phoebe on the couch, reading a book.
Silas whizzed by, making me jump out of his way so I didn’t get run over.
“Hi, Uncle Mac,” he called. “Bye, Uncle Mac!”
