Page 104 of Making It Burn

“Right now?”

“Right now.”He pulled me closer, his other hand coming up to cup my face.“Can I kiss you?”

My breath caught.“Here?In public?”

“Here.In public.On the Canal Walk where anyone could see us.”His thumb brushed across my cheekbone.“Unless you’re not comfortable—”

“Kiss me,” I breathed.

He did.

It had a delicate sweetness, like a vow.The December air chilled his lips, but his kiss was warm, and I yielded as he drew me near.When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

“That’s a start,” I said, my voice shaky.

“Just a start.”Mason pressed his forehead to mine.“I have a lot more to prove.But Beau, I swear to you—I’m not going anywhere.I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”

I thought about the compass sitting on my dresser at home, wrapped and waiting.So you always know where home is.

Maybe home wasn’t a place.Maybe it was a person.

“I’ll have you,” I said.“But Mason, I’m serious.Actions.Not words.Show me this is real.”

“I will.Starting tomorrow.”He kissed me again, quick and fierce.“Come to my place tonight?”

“Your place?”

“I want to wake up with you and make you breakfast in the morning.I don’t want to waste another second of time we could spend together.”His eyes were bright.“Please?”

I should probably play it cool.Make him work for it.But I was tired of playing games and pretending I didn’t want exactly what he was offering.

“Okay.Your place tonight.”

The smile that broke across Mason’s face was worth every second of heartache.

We walked back along the Canal Walk together, and this time, Mason took my hand.Right there in public where anyone could see.

It was just a small gesture.Just fingers intertwined as we walked.

But it felt like everything.

* * *

That evening, I stood in Mason’s kitchen watching him cook risotto—badly—while Christmas music played softly from his speaker.He’d changed into soft clothes, his hair was still damp from a shower, and he kept looking over at me like he couldn’t quite believe I was there.

I couldn’t quite believe it either.

“I’m terrible at this,” Mason said, stirring the pot with intense concentration.“Why did I think risotto was a good idea?”

“Because you’re trying to impress me.”

“Is it working?”

“The effort is working.The risotto remains to be seen.”

He laughed, and the sound made something in my chest ease.We’d spent the last hour talking—really talking—about everything.About the party, about his father, about what came next.Our fears and hopes and what we both needed from this relationship.

It felt like starting over.But better.Honest.