Gavin looks at our joined hands like he is just realizing he did that. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Neither of us pulls away.
Raider opens one eye and watches us for a second before deciding this situation is acceptable.
The house settles around us. The clock ticks quietly. The garden outside rustles in the night breeze.
I squeeze Gavin’s hand slightly.
“You know,” I say softly, “this might be the strangest first date in history.”
He leans back in the chair, still holding my hand. “Probably.”
“But it’s nice.”
“Yeah.” Gavin watches me for a moment. Then his voice drops. “Sophia.”
“Yes?”
“Can I kiss you?”
I smile. “I was wondering when you were going to ask.”
Something warm settles in his eyes. He stands slowly, still holding my hand, and steps around the table.
Raider lifts his head from the rug, watches us for exactly two seconds, decides we are not doing anything dangerous, and drops his chin back down.
Gavin stops beside my chair. “You sure?” he asks quietly.
“Yes.”
He cups my jaw with one hand and leans down.
His kiss is slow and careful at first, like he is giving me time to change my mind. I don’t. My fingers curl into the front of his shirt and I kiss him back. The moment deepens quickly. All the tension from the past few hours, the rescue and the worry and the long looks at the farmer’s market that never turned into anything, it all crashes together at once.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against mine. His thumb traces my jaw.
“Sophia,” he murmurs.
“Yeah?”
He says nothing for a moment. Just looks at me in a way that makes me feel like we have been here before somehow. Like we were always going to end up in this kitchen, his hand on my face, the whole night stretching out in front of us.
“You should rest that ankle,” he says finally.
I give him a look. “You’re changing the subject.”
“I’m being responsible.”
I summon every ounce of bravery I’ve ever possessed and say, “You’re off the clock now, Officer Holt. There’s no need to be responsible.”
The invitation is clear in my voice, and Gavin doesn’t hesitate to respond. He straightens and scoops me up before I can protest.
“Hey,” I say, laughing.
“You’re not walking.”
