Page 115 of Autumn on My Mind

“There’s physically nowhere to go, Berkeley,” he says, and although he sounds exasperated, I can see the worry on his shadowed face.

The best we can hope for is that Alvina isn’t paying attention. If we both turn to the wall and squeeze in as far as possible, she might not spot us?

No. Of course she will.

So, with only the slightest hesitation, I decide to seize the opportunity presenting itself.

And in my defense—IN MY DEFENSE—I think my actions are very understandable. Dominic is right there and he smells very good and I think I might still be in love with him. So all these factors need to be taken into account when examining what happens next.

“Pretend to kiss me again,” I tell him. My voice is hoarse and somewhat desperate, but when I slide my hands over his chest, they’re steady. “Come on. Duck your head all the way down. Hide us.”

He just stares at me, which is probably wise. I might be insane.

But I go on anyway, my hands now tugging at his shirt of their own accord, pulling him closer as I press my back to the wall. “Come on!”

Dom’s eyes have widened, but it’s not just surprise I see there. He gives his head a dazed shake as my mother and Daryl exchange low words on the other side of the column.

“I can’t,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “I can’t—” A shuddered exhale slips out of him. “I can’t pretend to kiss you again, Reese.”

“Then…kiss me for real.” I swallow, my hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt as though I’ll drown. “Really kiss me.”

Time stops. The rise and fall of his chest stops. Everything except my heart.

Dom wars with himself for a brief second, a battle that plays out in his eyes, before leaning down and pressing a kiss not to my lips but to my forehead. It’s fierce, achingly tender, even possessive, and it’s far too short.

Like a stamp at the post office, stamped on errant packages: return to sender. His lips on my skin do the same—return to Dominic. Then he leans back, looking down at me once more.

“You asked,” he breathes. He ducks his head, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “Don’t regret it.”

And then his lips are on mine.

One kiss. My back against the wall, half-hidden in the shadow of the column—just long enough for my mother to pass by our table. That’s what I’m expecting, what I’m hoping for. A tentative step forward, a place to start.

It’s not what Dom delivers. And I would be lying if I said I don’t sink into everything he offers me.

One hand tangles in my hair while the other slides to the back of my neck, angling my head up. He’s starving, parched, as his lips move over mine, and I feel in myself the same thing I know is happening to him: a final puzzle piece locking into place, the blessed relief of rightness when my heart has felt wrong for so long.

Out-of-step turning to synchronization.

I tilt my head further and tug him closer; his body seems to curl around mine as his lips grow more insistent, hungrier, his hands clenching.

Finally. Finally, I’m where I want to be, as near to him as possible, my heart on my sleeve and tangled up in his touch. I need to come up for air, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to move ever again.

When I finally have to breathe, I pull away as little as possible, and I hear his sharp inhale at the same time. He smooths one hand over my hair, my cheeks—aimless movements that nonetheless speak to me.

He has a chance to touch me, and he’s taking it. I know because I’m doing the same, my hands sliding over his back with no particular destination.

His breath is hot against my skin, his lips skimming over my forehead as he turns his head. Then he looks down at me, and I lean back to meet his gaze.

“Are we still hiding from our parents?” I say, out of breath.

His hands tighten almost painfully, a tug of hair at my scalp, a pinch of pain at my shoulder, but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t answer.

He says nothing for a full five seconds.

“Sorry,” he breathes, and he tries to pull away from me, but the column and wall are at our backs. “I—sorry.”

“Of course,” I say with a humorless laugh—the only sound my falling heart can push out. I go up on my tiptoes and press one last searing kiss to his lips. It’s a kiss for myself, one to take with me. Then I look back up at him. “I’m not the only one running scared, Dom.”