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He’s frowning at the photos on the wall. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m glad you think they’re good, but… they’re just…” He shrugs. “Depressing. Besides, I’m not some great artist. No one will pay money for these.”

“I think you’re wrong. Iknowyou’re wrong.” I grab his arm, pleading. He tenses. “And they have just the right amount of personal touch. They’re perfect!”

His lips twist to one side. I think I might be wearing him down, but I can also see he’s not convinced. “I guess we can put it on the maybe list.”

I pout. “Fine. It’s your art. I shouldn’t tell you what to do with it.” My hands fall to my hips and I look back at the framed photos, shaking my head in disappointment. “You can do whatever you want to do.”

Quint doesn’t respond.

I wait, fully expecting him to give in. To throw up his hands and proclaim—fine, Prudence,you win.Use the darn photos if it’s that important to you!

But his silence stretches on and on.

Finally, I glance at him.

He’s watching me, his eyes glinting with the faint glow of the flashlight.

“What?” I ask.

His mouth opens, but hesitates. Two seconds. Five. Before—“I can do whatever I want to do?”

I’m immediately wary. My eyes narrow. “Within reason.”

He exhales sharply. “It might be too late for that.”

I’m about to ask what he’s talking about, when he lowers his head and touches his lips against mine.

I freeze.

All thoughts evacuate my brain, leaving me with nothing but mental static.

My lips tingle. It’s a brief touch. Hesitant. Unsure. And then it’s gone. His eyes are hooded as he peers at me, waiting for my reaction.

And I—I can’t react. I can barely breathe.

Quint Erickson just kissed me.

He starts to look concerned. He gulps so loud I can hear it.

“I’ve… wanted to do that for a while…,” he says, which might be an explanation? Or an excuse? And then he’s pulling away even farther, and those eyebrows, those glorious eyebrows are knitting together, and I can tell he’s embarrassed and hurt and—why can’t I move?

“But if I shouldn’t have… I maybe misread… um.” His shoulders rise defensively. “Should I say I’m sorry?”

“No!” The word is all I can manage. Anything to get him to stop talking, to stop backpedaling, to stop looking like he might have just made a mistake. “I just… you surprised me. Is all.”

His head slowly lifts, slowly falls, in something like a robotic nod. “Okay. Good surprised, or…?”

I laugh, the hilarity hitting me all at once.

Quint. Quint kissed me.

He kissedme.

“Pru—”

I don’t let him finish. I grab his shoulders and kiss him back.

FORTY