"We shouldn't be here alone," I whisper, but he doesn't listen.
"Does it make you feel good?" he murmurs, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones.
"What?"
"Knowing that I'm defenseless." His voice is against my mouth. "Every fucking time you just look at me."
His gaze moves across my face like he's cataloging every detail, storing it somewhere safe, and my heart is so full I can feel it pressing against my ribs, demanding more space than my body can give it.
I kiss him, quick, just the press of my mouth to his before I pull back.
"Stop tempting me when I can't have you," he begs.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"How?"
His green eyes are half-lit by the glow from downstairs, completely serious.
"You exist."
He leans his forehead against mine, and I feel his breath warm on my lips.
"Gently," he whispers.
"So you don't bruise my mouth for everyone to see," I whisper back the words he once told me.
He kisses me gently, like he promised. He kisses me like we have all the time in the world. His thumb traces mycheekbone, his eyes searching mine for answersI hope he finds.
"Merry Christmas, Callahan," I murmur.
"Merry Christmas, Lily," he murmurs back.
His hands drop from my face. He steps back, one foot, then two, and turns and walks down the hallway toward the stairs. I watch him go until he disappears around the corner, until I hear his footsteps on the stairs, until I'm alone again with the window and the dark and the sound of my own heartbeat.
I stand at the window another minute, letting myself feel all of it. Tonight is Christmas, and I am home. So I wipe my eyes, fix my face, and go downstairs to my family.
29
LILY
January was supposed to be the easy month.
Interviews done, applications submitted, nothing left but the waiting period stretching out ahead of me like a long flat road. All I had to do was exist in Harbor Hill, study enough that I didn't fall back on my boards, work at the shop, and keep my hands off Callahan Holt in public.
Two out of four wasn't terrible. Studying was going well. The shop was good. The other two were falling apart at a concerning rate.
We'd gotten sloppy. There's no other word for it. The early months had been airtight: separate arrivals, separate departures, never in the same place without a buffer of people between us.
But airtight is hard to maintain when the person you're hiding keeps showing up in your kitchen at midnight smelling like soap and cold air and looking at you like you're the only warm thing left on earth.
Airtight is impossible when every cell in your body wants to reach for him, and the only thing stopping you is a room full of people who can never know.
The trips out of town were getting harder to hide. Same days, same duration, cover stories that had been solid in September, but were wearing thin by the week.
His fishing trips with Zuri had become statistically improbable. My study weekends with college friends had multiplied beyond belief.
