Page 135 of Secrets on Ice

Who knows what that is. I don’t answer. Instead, I reach for the remote and put on whatever movie is already queued up. Neither of us really watches it. The room is quiet, the only light in the room comes from the screen. At some point I shift closer, and he doesn’t move away. My head ends up against his chest, his arm settling loosely around me. His heartbeat is steady under my ear. I don’t mean to fall asleep, but I’m in a turkey coma.

I wake up in the dark of my own room. He’s setting me down carefully on the bed, one arm still under my knees, the other behind my back. I open my eyes, and he’s right there, face close, looking at me like he’s been caught doing something soft.

Neither of us says anything.

I lift my hand to his jaw and pull him to me.

The kiss is slow. There’s no rush. His mouth is warm and careful at first, like he’s giving me every chance to change my mind. When I don’t, he deepens it, but it’s still unhurried, still gentle, but with a heat that sinks straight into my bones. His hand cups the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheek, and I feel the way he holds himself back, like he’s afraid of breaking whatever this is. I part my lips, and he takes the invitation, tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my stomach flip. It’s not desperate or frantic. It’s a kiss that feels like a promise neither of us is ready to say out loud. He tastes like the last of the wine, and I can’t help the soft sound that escapes me when he tilts my head just a little more. When we finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against mine.

He’s quiet for a long second, just breathing with me. Then, with a voice that’s low and rough, he says, “This is getting harder to walk away from.”

My heart stutters.

Before I can say anything, he presses one last kiss to the corner of my mouth, gentle and final.

“Night, Em,” he whispers.

“Night.”

He closes my door when he goes.

I lie there in the dark with those words echoing in my chest, heavier than any kiss. I don’t want to lead him on, and I’m not ready for a relationship yet, but I’m also not looking to date a million people either. I guess I kind of like him being there, but I know that’s not fair on him. It’s more than sex between us, and I know that ignoring what is happening between us is starting to feel like the harder option.

Sleep takes a long time to come, and when it finally does, I dream of him.

In the dream, the light is soft and golden, late afternoon spilling across wide wooden floors. The kitchen smells like butter and garlic and something sweet baking in the oven. Outside the windows, tall trees move in a slow breeze, leaves whispering. Somewhere in the house, a baby monitor crackles once, then goes quiet again.

Sully stands at the stove, sleeves rolled up, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he stirs. When he turns and sees me watching, the smile that breaks across his face is so open it hurts. He reaches for me without words. I hop down from the counter and walk straight into his arms. He smells like the soap he always uses, the warmth of the kitchen, and something that is only him. His mouth finds mine, slow and sure, tasting of the life we somehow built.

Tiny shoes sit by the back door, and a half-finished bottle sits on the counter beside a stack of mail addressed to both of us. Everything feels lived-in and easy and ours.

“You chose me,” he murmurs against my lips, voice rough with wonder, like he still can’t quite believe it.

I wake with my heart pounding and the ghost of that kitchen still thick in my lungs, the smell of butter, the press of his mouth, the quiet certainty of a life that never happened.

For a long time, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to decide if the ache in my chest is longing or fear.

Maybe both.

37

EMBER

The Mavericks gala is the event of the season, apparently, and Harper has decided that Cassidy and I are not showing up in anything we already own.

“Absolutely not,” she said when I suggested it. “Love you girls, but you’re so Midwest. We’re shopping.”

So, we shop. It’s me, Cassidy, Jo, Harper, Issy, and Collette, moving through a series of boutiques so expensive I’m scared to breathe near the racks. It’s the most fun I’ve had in ages. Harper is ruthless, she takes one look at a dress and either lights up or waves it away like it personally offended her, and she’s almost always right.

I end up in a deep emerald gown that Cassidy gasps at, and Cassidy finds a black dress with a slit that Harper declares ‘dangerous, in a good way’. Jo, who is trying on something floor-length and elegant, catches sight of herself in the mirror and grins.

“Last gala,” she says, “Collette got married.”

Collette goes bright red. “We didn’t plan that.”

“You got married at the gala?” I ask.

“No, we flew to DC in the middle of the night and got married.” Collette smirks. “Best decision ever.”