“Relax,” I said gently. “Unless it’s a box of fake spiders, I’m sure I’ll love it.”
He swallowed hard, his throat flexing. “It’s not a cat.”
A laugh burst out of me, bright and helpless. “Grant Delaney, just let me open my gift.”
I tugged the ribbon loose. The little bell gave a tinny jingle before tumbling into my lap. Inside the box, nestled in crinkled tissue paper, was a white metal water bottle printed with cherries, and beside it, a small glass jar filled with candied ones.
I stared. “You got me… hydration and fruit.”
“You needed a new water bottle after I ruined your other one.” He shook his head, a wave of hair falling into his eye. “I had no idea there’d be so many pigeons on the roof. Plus… you always ask for extra cherries. Now you’ll always have some.”
The words hit somewhere between my ribs. Somehow, the room felt smaller, the air heavier in the best way.
“You remembered from the retreat?” I asked, though my voice sounded strange.
“Yeah.” He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I always wondered why you liked them so much.”
The firelight danced across his face, softening the hard lines. I ran my finger over one of the tiny red cherries on the bottle, tracing the curve like it might explain why my throat was so tight.
“Mostly because they taste like candy,” I said. “But also because everyone chases that first buzz from a cocktail—the heady rush that leaves you with a headache when it fades. Cocktail cherries remind me there’s more to it. The beauty of it—the tiny umbrella, the way the colors swirl in the glass, and the sweet cherry on top.”
My voice trailed off. A log snapped.
“I think…” I hesitated, my heart beating too fast. “I think that’s what real love is. Not the rush—what’s left when the rush is gone.”
He held my gaze, and for a second, I thought I’d gone too far, stepped right over that line whereValerie’s Worldview Doesn’t Match Anyone Else’s.
But then he exhaled slowly. He reached out, fingertips brushing my cheek.
The space between us didn’t feel like space anymore. It felt like a dreamy whirl inside a snow globe, the light fragmenting, snow blurring everything.
His touch was warm, and a little rough, and every nerve in my body stood at attention.
“Spells?”
I blinked. “What?”
He smiled faintly, eyes flicking to my mouth. “I bet you taste like cherries.”
The world tilted. “We shouldn't—”
“Definitely not.” His voice dropped. “But I'm tired of pretending I don't want to.”
Me either.
And before I could say anything else, or breathe, or think, he leaned in and kissed me.
The first brush of his lips was feather light, as if anything too real might dissolve the moment. A taste, like he promised. I tilted closer. My hand found his shirt, clutching at the fabric as I tugged. He deepened the kiss, the low sound in his throat my new favorite sound of the season.
I didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly I was in his arms, my knees brushing his. I felt him smile, just barely. That maddening smile that always meant trouble. Then he was kissing me again, fingers sliding through my hair, cupping the side of my face.
“We're breaking the marriage rules,” I murmured, gasping against him as his mouth trailed down my neck. “Live and date separately.”
“Then don't wear your hair like this.” His hand wound around the strands, tugging gently. “Makes it impossible to think straight.” His lips found my collarbone. “The way your skin smells. Your laugh.”
He hesitated, breath shivering against my throat. “I haven't wanted anyone else, Spells.”
I stilled, and then the truth slipped out. “Neither have I.”
