Page 35 of Nine-Tenths

I freeze.

It’s gentle, but it feels like he's pushed a bolt of lightning through my skin. His long fingers caress my palm, skim lightly across the sensitive underside of my wrist, over my pulse point. I gasp like one of the protagonists in my books, light and surprised, because Iamsurprised.

I watch him lift my hand, gaze locked on mine, making sure I'm watching him do it. Then, gently, he presses his lips to my knuckles.

And it's… it'sintimate.

The feel of his breath on my skin, the slight dampness, the heat. His lips are warmer than the rest of him, and I want to know if it's because he's been breathing fire, or if this is another dragon thing. Is his mouth always this hot?

I want to put my tongue against his to gauge it.

Dav's watching me, carefully, thumb brushing across the spot he'd kissed. It sends goosebumps racing up my arm, to shiver along my scalp. Every part of me feels honed in on that single, sweet point of connection between us. It's erotic in a way Iwould never have written, and yet, to have him standing so close, practically sharing the same air, my hand in his...

"Dav…" I whisper. I have no idea what to say. What to ask for. I should be apologizing, but would that ruin the gravity of this… what is this? A confession? "I don't—

"Hey assholes!" Hadi snarls from the other side of the kitchen door.

Dav springs back so fast he slams into the table. He is back to prim posture and folded hands, though this time his attention is on the floor, on the footprints marked out against the white tile in spilled coffee. I feel bad that I've wasted his hard work like that.

When I look over, Hadi is peering around the doorframe. "If you're going to have a domestic, don't do it in my kitchen. Everyone can hear you two shouting. Fuck." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "You know what, Dav hasn't taken lunch. Colin, get him out of here for an hour. Work out your shit."

She yanks the door closed behind her, slamming it with a ringingthunk, and turns up the café muzak.

My faceburns, and the blush must match Dav's, because he's as red as a tomato, freckles lost in the flag of color, eyes obscured by the flop of his hair. It’s not a good look for him. And yet I just want tograbhim, throw him up against the fridge door, and cover his mouth with mine, andshit,yeah, Hadi was right.

Time for a break.

Chapter Eleven

Dav kissed my hand.

It's all I can think about.

I don't want to sit out the back of Beanevolence for our break. I need to be in public or I won't be able to trust myself.

"Let's go out," I suggest, as Dav dons his shirt and waistcoat, attention laser-focused on his buttons. He’s suddenly bashful. For being caught in just his under-shirt? (How cute, he still wears an under-shirt.) Or being overheard by every customer? Or being shouted at by Hadi? Or kissing my hand? "How about the board game café at the top of the street?"

"As you like," he agrees softly.

I'd like you to mean this. Please, don't let me misunderstand. Please don't let me fuck this up.

Dav said he didn't want my love confession to be a joke. Then he’d kissed my hand.

Butterflies and fizz bubble up in my stomach as I lead him through the crowd of people out front. The lunch rush has dwindled, so there's only half a dozen people in line now, though all the seats are full. We get the stink eye from a few, but someone applauds when I grab Dav's wrist to speed him along. The backs of his fingers brush my palm when I tug him through the front door.

Dav kissed my hand.

I float the whole block to the resto. The owner, a woman with bright red corkscrew curls and an infectious smile, offers up some free craft beer when she finds out we're part of the café crew, and begs us to let her know when we'll be selling packets of our new roast so she can start slinging it here.

When she's dropped off our lunches, Dav twirls his spoon through his chili and, like he's ripping off a band aid, blurts out: "I have nothing else to do."

I look up from my burger, caramelized onion dripping out the corner of my mouth.Oh, yeah, real attractive. But Dav kissed my hand, so he doesn't care.

"Sorry?" I dive for a napkin, because I'm still replaying that kiss like a looped GIF in my mind, and this isn't where I thought this conversation would start.

He sinks back into the banquette, the closest thing to a slouch I've seen from him. "You've asked me, repeatedly, why I came to the café every day."

"Okay." I give him the space to elaborate, instead of making a joke about how it's obviously because he thinks I'm cute. You don't kiss the hand of people you think are not-cute.