“Ah yes. My deepest apologies for failing to break anything today.” I groan one more time. “At least the customer was a friend of Ludo’s and was convinced it was a prank. They laughed, swore revenge, and ordered another.”
Lark always makes me feel better with a ready laugh. He sees beyond my messes and ramblings and never makes me feel stupid or small. It’s easy to be myself with him, when he gets me like no one else.
We sink onto the sofa together, closer than is strictly necessary for the space. My thigh presses against his, tingling with the contact.
“Speaking of mouths to feed, where is everyone?”
“They’re all in town,” he says after a beat. “Setting up the stage. Probably terrorizing half the market.”
“All of them? Even Eevi?”
He nods seriously. “I was informed that she has strong opinions about poster placement, and her presence was required. I, however, was deemed wholly unnecessary.”
Nervous energy flutters through me now that I realize we’re alone. Really alone.
“I love when your cheeks turn pink,” he murmurs.
“Cold outside.” That’s not why I shiver at his touch.
His hand finds mine. Fingers trace my knuckles with idle tenderness, lingering like he’s memorizing the shape of me. The gentleness, the quiet… It's all so tender I almost miss the hunger curling beneath it. But it’s there. The warmth between us sparks.
My skin buzzes, heat blooming in my belly. He’s always sweet, but this is more. The way his thumb pauses at the base of mine, the way he looks at me—inviting, wanting, asking me to be his. And maybe I want that, too.
I bring my other hand across to run up his arm, then slide across his chest. He’s not wearing his hat, so I twist to face him so I can run my fingers up his face and trace the soft edges of his ears all the way to the tips. He shivers, but doesn’t pull away. I do it again, practically in his lap now.
“I like touching you.”
“Then touch me more,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “You have my permission to touch me anytime you like,kulta.”
My heart lurches.
“I thought I was yourihana,” I whisper.
“You are so much more than lovely,” Lark replies, the words brushing heat over my skin as he pulls me the rest of the way to him. “You’re precious. You have no idea how much. How I’ve wanted you.”
“You want me?”
His dimple appears, lazy and seductive. “I promise I never needed that much practice kissing. Especially not with you.”
My fingers skim the side of his face, and he leans into the touch like it means something. Like I mean something.
The kiss comes softly at first. Then he draws me closer, and I follow without question, threading fingers through his hair, sinking into the taste of him. Warmth pools low as he shifts, guiding me gently back against the cushions, his hands careful and reverent.
With a shrill squeal, Hugo darts from his pocket, scrabbles across the couch cushion and leaps for the safety of the floor. Tiny clawsclick-clackin a race for safer ground as he abandons us.
“Sorry, buddy!” Lark yells after him with a laugh before turning his devastating dimples back to me. “Forgot he was there.”
I can only laugh with him, helpless against that smile.
The next kiss is slower, deeper. Like he means to map my soul through the press of lips and tongue. Like he’s savoring me. My hands tangle at his nape, pulling him closer, needing him like air.
His lips move to my jaw, to the column of my throat. He pauses, giving me space to stop him if I want. I don’t.
“You’re sure?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“I’ve never been more. Take me to bed, Lark.”
He lifts me as if I weigh nothing, and carries me toward the bedroom. I barely register the creak of floorboards beneath his feet before he bumps the door shut and twists the lock with a soft click. My breath catches.
