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I rest my cheek against his shirt. “My first kiss.” I look up, suddenly shy. “In case the laughing gave me away.”

“Mine too.” He caresses my cheek. “Glad we took our time.” He holds me as if he’ll never let me go again. For the first time, my younger self forgives him.

ten

Silas

By the time we reach the maze, I have kissed Anissa twice more—once beside the mill and once when she brushed a leaf from my shoulder and looked up at me. I used to roll my eyes at couples who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. Now I understand how hard it is to walk beside someone I’ve missed for three years without reaching for her.

We accept a question card and promise not to need the emergency exit. Twelve minutes later, we pass the same scarecrow for the third time.

“He’s following us.” She points her pencil at it. “I don’t trust him.”

“We could turn right.” I let my hand brush hers.

“You could look less pleased.” She takes my hand and leads me onward.

At a turn, her boot catches a rut—she stumbles against me, and I steady her hips. Her fingers close over my wrist. And I forget the maze as she looks up, close enough that her breath warms my chin.

“Found me.” Her voice drops to a whisper.

“I’d rather not lose you again.”

“Can I ask about the kiss being your first?” She studies my face. “Only if you want to tell me.”

“Yes.” I cover her fingers with mine. “I worked a lot. After Dad died, there was the business and Mom. I kept telling myself I’d date later.” She listens without joking or looking as though I should defend myself. Her acceptance eases my fear that she'll reject me. “By then, I was used to being alone.” I turn toward her. “Then you brought me furniture crimes.” She laughs quietly, and I smile before continuing. “After you left, I knew what it felt like to want someone.” I stroke her knuckles. “Pretending with somebody else didn’t appeal.”

“There wasn’t anyone for me either.” She leans against my arm. “I liked the idea of being over you more than anybody who asked me out.”

“You didn’t owe me waiting,” I say before my relief makes her honesty feel unfair.

“I wanted the right person.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m still a virgin, Silas.”

“So am I.” I meet her gaze.

“I like knowing we can learn together.” Her knee presses mine. “When we’re ready.”

“When you’re ready.” I kiss her open palm.

“You get to be ready too.” She waits until I look at her. “Both of us matter.”

eleven

Anissa

Silas carves his pumpkin with surgical concentration, while mine resembles a startled potato. His sleeves are rolled up, and his forearms have become my biggest distraction.

“You’re staring.” He keeps his eyes on the tool, but his mouth lifts.

“Evaluating the competition.” I drop a string of pulp into the bucket. “Your pumpkin looks judgmental.”

“Someone I know.” He turns it, revealing extravagant eyebrows.

The resemblance to my auction expression makes me laugh. He watches instead of joining in immediately, and the pleasure on his face silences me. Yesterday, I expected to endure him. Now I imagine his hands on my back when nobody else is watching.

My phone buzzes, interrupting the moment. I pull my phone out of my pocket and read the text. A former coworker has heard the design review is moving forward. I lower the carving tool, stomach tight. If I’m cleared, I will have decisions to make. I don’t want my future to become the reason Silas stops reaching for me again.

“Chicago?” He sets his tool down and waits.