“Tessa.” I said her name, but it was drowned out by a low laugh that started deep in my chest. “You went looking for ghosts and found a miracle.”
“We found a breadcrumb,” she corrected, grinning. “But it changes the scope of the project. I have to figure out how this thing is fighting back.” Then she whipped her head, as if to shake herself out of it. “Though this is only one data set. A very promising one, but it’s just the start. We still need to replicate the findings and analyze control sites?—”
“Hey,” I cut her off gently, stepping a little closer. “Let yourself have the win. It’s the first real breakthrough this reef has seen in years. That was all you.”
“It was us,” she corrected. “Your knowledge of the currents and sites saved me weeks of guesswork.”
The excitement between us settled, replaced by something quieter and more charged. Her face was flushed from the victory, her eyes shining, and all the reasons I’d been keeping my distance suddenly felt like flimsy excuseswritten on bar napkins. I wasn’t thinking about eleven weeks from now, or twelve years ago. I was just thinking that I didn’t want this moment to end.
And the dam burst.
“You deserve a real celebration,” I said, my voice dropping slightly. “More than just a beer at the end of a shift. I’ve been working on a new hazy IPA. It’s not on tap here yet because I’ve been brewing it at home. I could use a second opinion from a discerning scientist.”
The air thickened. We both knew I wasn’t just talking about beer. A small, knowing smile touched her lips as she held my gaze, understanding the real invitation perfectly. “Okay. Let’s go.”
My cottage was exactly as I’d left it this morning—clean, orderly, every surface clear. A perfect reflection of the controlled life I tried to lead. Closing the door behind Tessa was like sealing off the rest of the world, leaving only the growing heat between us.
“Kitchen’s this way.” My voice sounded a little too loud in the sudden quiet.
She followed me into the gleaming space of stainless steel and light wood. Her eyes landed on the professional-grade, four-tap kegerator built into the counter.
“Okay, so you weren’t kidding about the keg.” A smile warmed her face, easing some of the tension.
“I never kid about beer.” I pulled two tulip glasses from the freezer, the crystal ringing softly as I set them on the counter. “This one’s the new IPA. Heavy on the Citra and Mosaic hops. Should have notes of grapefruit, maybe a little mango.”
I pulled the tap handle, and the hazy, golden liquid swirled into the glass, a thick, fragrant head foaming at the top. I handed one to her, our fingers brushing.
She took a slow sip, her eyes closing as she savored it. “Wow. Braden, that’s perfect.”
“Glad you approve.” I took a drink from my own glass, leaning against the counter opposite her. The beer was an anchor, something to focus on other than the way the light caught the red strands in her hair.
“This place is so you,” she said as her gaze panned around the kitchen and open living area. “Everything in its place. Neat. Is your whole life this orderly?”
The question hit hard. “I try to keep it that way.”
“Why?” It wasn’t an accusation, just genuine curiosity.
I swirled the beer in my glass, watching the lacing cling to the side. “Because the alternative is chaos. I learned long ago that the only thing you can really count on is what you build for yourself.”
Her expression softened with understanding. “I have a confession to make.”
Her lips were full and so damn kissable. “Oh? Beer tends to lead to confessions.”
“I’ve spent the last few days trying to focus on genetic sequencing while the only thing I can think about is kissing you. Being with you.” She closed the small distance between us, her hand coming up to rest on my chest, right over my thumping heart.
“At dinner,” she continued, “you were right. I’ve been checking boxes my whole life, chasing a version of success I’m not even sure I want anymore. Coming back here, seeing you… it’s made me question everything.”
I covered her hand with mine, lacing our fingers together over my chest. “Me too. All this order, this control… it’s how I function. And you’ve completely dismantled it. I can’t focus on anything else. No matter where I look, all I see is you.”
That was all it took.
She rose on her toes, and I met her halfway, my mouth finding hers. This was slow and deep, a conversation all its own. It was a confession of twelve years of longing, of days of denial, of the undeniable truth that we were standing on a cliff’s edge. I tasted the citrus from my IPA on her lips, traced the sexy curves of her body against mine, reveled in the soft sound she made in the back of her throat as I angled my head to deepen the kiss.
“I want you, Braden,” she said against my lips. “Now. Here. No more waiting.”
A thousand reasons why this was a catastrophically bad idea flashed through my mind. She was leaving. It would end in heartbreak, again. It was temporary. It would destroy the careful order I’d built. But as I stared down at her, I couldn’t latch onto a single one of them. The only thing that was real was her. In my arms. “Bedroom’s down the hall.”
The words barely left my mouth before I was moving, pulling her with me. The pretense of a slow seduction evaporated in a single heartbeat. My mouth crashed down on hers again. It was all teeth and tongue and twelve years of pent-up hunger.
