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I catch the slight part of her lips, the way her breath hitches, the way her hand stills against the wood. The air between us is electric, like a storm ready to break.
Before I can second-guess it, before I can tell myself this is dangerous, I lean in.
Slow. Testing. Her eyes flutter shut just before our lips meet. Soft. Tentative.
The taste of her mint and warmth rushes through me like a wildfire. Her lips part slightly, a small sound catching in her throat, and I’m done for. I pull her in as our kiss deepens.
Every muscle in my body locks, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my ribs. It’s been years. Years. And somehow, it still feels like home. But suddenly … Buddy barks.
Emma jolts, pulling back just as the dog lunges at a moth flitting near the lantern. The moment shatters, leaving behind nothing but the wild thudding of my pulse and the space where she’d just been.
She stares at me, lips parted, eyes wide. I see everything in that look. The surprise. The want. The fear. Her breath comes fast, and then, before I can say a word, she scrambles to her feet.
"I…uh … goodnight," she stammers, bolting inside.
The door slams behind her, leaving me on the porch, staring after her like a damn fool. Buddy circles once, then flops down beside me, letting out a huff. I press my fingers to my lips, the warmth of her still lingering.
What now? I don’t have an answer. But for the first time in a long, long time, I know I’m truly in trouble.
Chapter nine
Emma
The kitchen is too quiet. Only the soft hiss of the coffee pot fills the space, the air thick with last night.
I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, it was there, the brush of his lips, the heat of his skin, the way his breath caught before we pulled away. I can still feel it, like an imprint, like something I shouldn’t have let happen but desperately wanted to.
I grip my mug tighter, rinsing it under the stream of water, watching the way the light catches on the soap suds. It was nothing. A mistake.
I tell myself that. Over and over. But my body isn’t listening. Because I want it to happen again. The floor creaks behind me, and I stiffen, already knowing who it is before I turn.
Bryan stands at the doorway, hair a mess, jaw tense, a deep crease between his brows. He looks like he barely slept either.
Buddy thumps his tail against the floor, gnawing lazily at a bone under the table, completely unaffected by the tension suffocating the room.
I glance away, pretending to be absorbed in drying my hands, but the weight of Bryan’s stare burns against my skin.Say something.
He clears his throat, voice rough. “About last night …” He hesitates, dragging a hand through his hair. “It was a mistake. Sorry.”
A mistake.
The words slam into me harder than I expect, disappointment sharp and instant. I should agree. I should nod, laugh it off, pretend it didn’t mean anything.
But I know better. It did mean something. And judging by the way he’s avoiding my gaze; it meant something to him too.
I force a short nod, my voice even when I say, “Yeah. Won’t happen again.”
Lie.
His jaw tightens, and for a second, I swear he’s about to say something else. But instead, he just nods and steps past me, reaching for the coffee pot.
I turn away too, needing space. But space is useless when his scent is still there. Cedar and sea air, warmth and him.
My fingers twitch against the countertop. I need a distraction, something to shatter whatever this is before I lose my mind.
I grab my clinic sketches from the counter and turn to face him. “I’ve got these, vet clinic ideas. I’d like to ask for your opinions about some things. That's if you don't mind,”
His eyes flick to the binder in my hands, brows lifting slightly. “Of course, I don’t mind. I'm just surprised you’re still serious about that.”