Page 73 of Until You

“Photo time?” I look around and see everyone being rounded up, including Crew and the guys working outside. “What for?”

“Can you believe Bobbi Jo got the Daily Sentinel to do a feature on Founder’s Day?” she says with a little flutter clap. “It’s the biggest newspaper in the state. Its circulation is . . . geez, I can’t even imagine, but it’s about ten thousand times more than the population of Redemption Falls.”

“That’s great news for all the vendors.”

“Don’t you know it. I told my hubby that we need to order extra everything for our booth.” Her eyes light up with an excitement that is more than endearing. Clearly this is a much bigger deal than I thought it to be. “It’s not often Redemption Falls gets any kind of love, so we’re just over the moon with this development.”

“It’s great for the town and the festival.”

She smiles and motions for me to follow her. “C’mon then.”

“For what?”

“To be in the photo, silly. The paper wants all of us volunteers in the shot.”

The smile I give her is strained. “That’s okay. I don’t need to be in the photo. It really should be all of you who have done this year after year.”

“That’s nonsense.” She grabs my hand and pulls me to go over to the group of volunteers being staged for the photo.

The last thing I need is for my face to be splashed on some newspaper and website. My hair color may be different, but everything else is the same. Most people would be able to spot someone they’d lived with day in, day out, been intimate with, and woke up next to for years.

Crew catches my arm as I try to head toward the back row where I’m hoping I can successfully hide myself behind other volunteers.

“Hey. Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back. I just need to ask Kelly something real quick,” I say and immediately hate myself for lying.

Crew gives me a confused look but releases my arm.

I purposely get lost in the confusion as the photographer stages people. The process takes so long that I silently slip away before the actual photo is taken, heading up the stairs to the storage room to find the banners.

Bobbi Jo was right. The storage room is a vast cavern of chaos. I can’t find the light switch, but there’s enough light coming in from the numerous skylights that I can see well enough.

There is row after row of shelving units. Some are overflowing with random items ranging from sports equipment to theater props to catering equipment. As I walk aisle by aisle, it’s clear that there is no rhyme or reason to the haphazard placement of what looks like a decade’s worth of stuff.

And that’s going to make finding the banners a difficult task, seeing as how they could be rolled up or folded and pushed to the back of a shelf where they can’t be seen.

Since I’m already halfway into the room, I decide I’ll start my search at the far end and make my way back toward the door. I’m only in my second aisle, opening the drawers of a long, low-profile cabinet, when I hear footsteps in the hallway. I tense for some reason, even though it’s not like the boogeyman frequents the community center.

“Tennyson?”

I release the breath I was holding at the sound of Crew’s voice. “Back here,” I say.

His footsteps come closer until he clears the end of the aisle, his eyes narrowed and smile curious as he looks at me. “Are you hiding up here from the pink princess and her demands?”

“No. Yes.” I throw my hands up. “Just trying to find old banners in this shitshow of a storage room.”

“It is a mess,” he says as he closes the distance toward me. “A big, disorganized mess. One that say, if you were missing for a few extra minutes, might be expected since it’ll take some time to go through.”

“Is that so?” I ask as he puts his hand on my back and pulls me against him.

“It is,” he murmurs before closing his mouth over mine.

It feels like forever since we’ve kissed when, in reality, it’s only been a couple of days. But I’m reminded immediately why those couple of days have been a struggle because this man . . . his kiss . . . is absolutely addictive.

In a matter of seconds, I’m drugged by the taste of him. By the feel of his hands running down my sides, cupping my ass, fingers grazing ever so slightly over my slit as he does before lifting me onto the cabinet I was just searching through.

“God, how I’ve been wanting to do this all day. Every day. The girls. They’re everywhere.” Each sentence said between demanding kisses. “Fuuucck.” He groans when I cup his rock-hard erection. And that one word spoken in his guttural growl is like an audible seduction when frankly, I don’t need to be seduced at all.