Page 3

“Were you planning to leave?”

“Before I even arrived.” I look toward the door, then back at her. “Crowds aren’t really my thing.”

“Mine either.” She glances toward the starry sky, then back at me. “I spend a lot of my workday with people. Sometimes quiet feels like what I need most.”

I know exactly what she means. After a call, even one that ends well, I sometimes sit on the porch with my boots still on, waiting to hear the wind instead of the radio.

“What do you do when you get it?” I rest my shoulder against the other side of the pillar.

“I take a moment and enjoy it, until I realize, sometimes I want to share it with someone special.”

I can't take my eyes off her as I wonder if I could be that special someone in her life.

four

Lara

Iwant to say his name. I want to tell him he’s the special someone I think about in those quiet moments alone.

I want him to hear how I say his name when we’re alone. That thought keeps distracting me—being alone with him somewhere quieter than this terrace, without a door opening every few minutes. I’ve never wanted to rush an evening and make it last at the same time before.

But the evening is moving toward midnight, when everyone is supposed to take off their masks and reveal themselves. The thought of watching him take off his mask and hear him say his name tightens my stomach with anticipation.

A breeze comes across the terrace, and I rub my upper arms, trying to stay warm. Holt immediately notices and takes off his jacket.

“You don’t have to.” I start to say as he lifts it behind me.

“I’d like to.” He settles it over my shoulders, smoothing the collar away from my hair. Such a simple gesture, yet he does it with such care that I almost end the game and call out his name.

The warmth of the lining makes me close my eyes for a second. When I open them, he is watching me.

“Better?” His hands drop, but he stays close.

“Much.” I tuck my fingers into the lapels.

His shirt fits his shoulders so well that I briefly forget the cold. He looks at the jacket, at my hands holding it closed, and then swallows.

I should probably be thinking about the cold. Instead, I watch the open space at his collar and wonder how warm his skin is there. I’ve never been this close to a man I want. The unfamiliar feeling makes me shy, but it doesn’t make me want to step back.

Instead, I take a bold step toward him. “You’ve been very careful with me tonight.” I touch his forearm through his sleeve.

“Is that bad?” He turns his wrist slightly beneath my fingers.

“No.” I lift my face to get a better look at his. “But you can stand a little closer.”

He does. Slowly enough that I can step back if I want to, close enough that the front of his shirt brushes the jacket around me.

I don’t step back.

His hand rises toward my cheek, hesitates, then stops. “May I kiss you?” He holds my gaze, his fingers suspended beside my face.

I answer by putting my hand over his and bringing it the last inch. “Yes.” My cheek warms beneath his palm.

He bends, and I meet him halfway. The first kiss is gentle. His beard brushes my chin, softer than I expect. I keep my eyes closed as he begins to pull away, and my hand catches the front of his shirt. He pauses with his mouth near mine.

Don’t stop yet—I silently beg. I finally know what it feels like to kiss him, and one kiss isn’t enough. So I kiss him. This time, his arm settles around my back. I lean into him, feeling his breathing change. My thoughts scatter. I’ve pictured a first kiss often enough to be embarrassed by how many versions, but none includes this particular sensation of his thumb brushing my cheek while the rest of his hand cradles my jaw as if he has all the time in the world.

When we separate, I keep my fingers on his chest. “I’m glad you asked me to dance.” I look up at him.