“The feeling is mutual.”
“But right now, I really want to kiss you.”
Her breath hitches. “Right now, I really want you to.”
I cup her face with one hand, giving her every chance to pull away, to change her mind, to remember all the reasons this is a bad idea.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she rises slightly from her chair, closing the distance between us. Our lips meet, soft and tentative at first. Testing. Learning.
Then she makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and everything changes. The kiss deepens, and it’s nothing like I expected. It’s not calculated or controlled or manageable. It’s overwhelming and consuming and absolutely perfect.
Her hands come up to grip my shirt, pulling me closer. My other hand finds her waist, fingers spreading across the curve of her hip. She tastes like mint tea and something sweet, and I never want to stop kissing her.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I rest my forehead against hers.
“That was…” I start.
“Yeah,” she agrees breathlessly.
We stand here, wrapped around each other in the lamplight, and I feel something in my chest loosen. Some knot of tension I’ve been carrying for years, maybe decades. I don’t know what this means. Don’t know how it changes things between us. Don’t know if I’m capable of being what she needs.
But right now, at this moment, I’m just… happy.
CHAPTER 16
GEORGIA
Ibarely sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel Calvin’s lips on mine. His hand cupping my face. The way he looked at me in the lamplight, like I was something precious.
I kissed Calvin Aarons.
And it was…
God, it was perfect.
I press my fingers to my lips, smiling in the darkness of my tent. Ella is sound asleep beside me, her breathing soft and steady, and otherwise the camp is quiet except for the distant hum of the generator.
I should feel worried. Conflicted. This is my boss. This could complicate everything.
But all I feel is warm and giddy and hopeful in a way I haven’t felt in years.
When morning comes, I’m exhausted but buzzing with nervous energy. I dress carefully in my usual pants and a nicer shirt than usual. Then I laugh at myself. It’s not like there are many clothing options in the desert.
Ella is cranky, fighting me on her diaper change and refusing to wear the outfit I picked out.
“Come on, baby. We need to get dressed.”
“No!”
“Ella—”
“No!”
By the time we make it to breakfast, I’m sweaty and flustered, my carefully chosen shirt already wrinkled, Ella’s hair sticking up at odd angles because she wouldn’t let me brush it.
