The taste of champagne lingered on her lips, mixed with something I couldn’t name—sweet and sharp and dangerous. My hands found her waist before I could stop them, her fingers clutching the lapels of my jacket like she wasn’t sure whether to pull me closer or push me away.
The world outside that moment didn’t exist. Not the noise of the ballroom, not the lights, not the fact that we were both supposed to know better. Just her—soft, trembling, impossibly close.
When she finally pulled back, she was breathing hard, eyes wide, lips parted. Her hands were still gripping my suit like she didn’t trust her knees.
“I’m not this girl,” she whispered.
I shook my head, voice low. “I know.”
She blinked, searching me again, the words catching like splinters. “No, you don’t.”
And she was right. I didn’t. I didn’t know what kind of girl she meant—the one who kissed someone who wasn’t hers, or the one who finally let herself want something she couldn’t have. I just knew I’d never felt anything that honest before.
She stepped back, breaking contact completely. The loss hit like cold air. Her hand came up to her mouth, thumb brushing her bottom lip as if trying to erase the proof.
“Ellery—” I started.
“Don’t,” she said again, softer this time. Her voice trembled, but the look in her eyes was steady—resigned, like she’d already decided to carry the guilt herself.
I nodded because what else was there to do? The last thing she needed was me making this harder.
She took a step back, the distance barely enough to breathe, but her voice—God, her voice—was steady even with the tremor running through it.
“I broke up with Kyle,” she said quietly. “He didn’t come. Again. And I finally—just couldn’t.”
Her hands were clenched at her sides like she was holding herself together by force alone. I didn’t ask why now or what happened. I’d seen it already—the empty chair at her table, the way she kept checking her phone, the polite smile that cracked around the edges every time someone congratulated her.
“You shouldn’t have had to stand alone tonight,” I said.
The words came out low, heavier than I meant them to, but I didn’t take them back. I couldn’t.
She looked up at me then—really looked—and something in her expression cracked open. Not sadness, not relief, just truth.
I reached out before I could stop myself, fingertips brushing the inside of her wrist. Her pulse jumped beneath my touch. She didn’t pull away.
For a second, we just stood there, the whole room quiet except for the soft hum of distant music leaking through the walls. Then she exhaled, slow and shaky, and that sound undid me completely.
This time, when she kissed me, there wasn’t hesitation. No stumble, no question. Just the quiet certainty of two people who had already decided and were done pretending otherwise.
Her lips were soft, deliberate. She leaned in like she’d been holding her breath for too long and I was the only thing that could fill her lungs again. I didn’t rush it. I let it happen—the slide of her hands against my chest, the way her body fit against mine, the faint hitch in her breathing when I tilted my head just enough to deepen it.
Everything slowed down. The lights, the noise, the chaos beyond the curtain—it all disappeared until it was just her. The warmth of her mouth. The faint scent of champagne still clinging to her skin. The tiny, broken sound she made when I pulled her closer.
There was no guilt, not in that moment. Just clarity.
Her fingers slid up my lapel, curling in the fabric like she was afraid I’d vanish if she let go. I rested my forehead against hers, breathing her in.
“Ellery,” I said softly, her name half a whisper, half a prayer.
She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes fluttered open, pupils wide, lips parted, and she looked at me like she was seeing something she didn’t know how to name.
The second kiss came slower, deeper—less heat, more weight. It wasn’t about escape this time. It was about surrender.
Her hand found the back of my neck; mine slid along her spine until my palm rested against the small of her back. Everything between us settled into rhythm, something quiet and inevitable.
She leaned into me until her forehead rested against my chest, her voice so soft I almost missed it under the quiet hum of the empty ballroom. “I don’t want you to think this is just me… rebounding.”
I felt her breath through my shirt, warm and unsteady. I could’ve said a dozen things, could’ve joked or deflected, but what came out was the truth. “Pretty bad rebound if I’ve been waiting months.”
