It wasn’tjustanything at all.
In that stunned-still moment, Embry realized she didn’t just havefeelingsfor Rye. She’d underestimated why her heart lurched, why she felt as if no one, even Oakley, could have him. Why she wanted to kiss him, touch his face, live in one of his bear hugs forever.
She wasin lovewith Rye Knighton.
This prickly, pain-in-the-butt, always-calling-her-on-her-bullshit, gap-year man was the one she wanted.
“Hey,” Rye replied.
Was there a rasp in his voice? Or was he simply exhausted? She was sure his throat bobbed. Maybe. Embry knew she better say something of substance before she chickened out. Her heartbeat took off, and though Rye was accustomed to her dramatics, fainting before she got the words out would put a serious kink in the delivery.
“I need to say something,” Embry blurted at the very same moment Rye announced, “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you.”
Their crossed words settled, and Embry felt the need to laughat herself and brush back her hair, even though Ames had probably made it absolutely perfect before she walked over here. Rye gestured at her with a little flickering smile. “Ladies first.”
Always the gentleman.
Embry took a step closer, planted her legs like tent stakes, and gathered herself with a deep breath that did nothing to quell the turmoil in her gut. Despite her determination, she suddenly felt untethered. No matter his reaction to what she had to say now, things would change between them. Hopefully for the better, but if that wasn’t to be, they couldn’t go on this way.
Shecouldn’t go on this way.
Yet in that moment the right words still eluded her.
“I know you care about me…” Embry started, hand-wavy and rocky. He’d called her smart and beautiful when she’d broken down and left tearstains down his neck in the graveyard. Yet reminding him of that felt like emotional sabotage, somehow. “I just want you to understand that I care about you, too. I hope I’ve shown you that, but I’m not sure I’ve done my best.”
Embry grimaced, nose crinkling. Her trademark nerve was flagging. Her palms were sweating, her heart pounding as if she were sprinting around the Raven’s Head track. “I’m not doing my best right now, that’s for sure…”
She was not nailing this in any measure. Oh Goddess, this was all wrong.
For the first time in her life, she was completely in love, and instead of shouting it to the rooftops, Embry was experiencing a tongue-tiedness she hadn’t thought she was capable of.
“Em?” Rye asked, and it was so gentle and un-goading and completely sweet that she lunged forward and put one hand on his shoulder—
And a finger to his lips. They were staring at each other, so close now. Rye had cupped her elbows, and it was everythingEmbry could do now not to slide her hands around the back of his neck and kiss him. Instead, almost as a protective barrier from her own intuition, Embry kept her finger pressed firmly against his mouth. Their own little sign for silence so different in the light of day. Not in the dark of a closet. Not in the shadows under her bed.
Here, in the open. Where Rye could see exactly how Embry felt about him.
“I’m almost finished,” Embry whispered, steeling herself to look into his eyes. Knowing he could read all the things she’d realized and left unsaid within her own.
But when she lifted her gaze to his, Embry was floored to realize that the window to the soul went both ways. The sea-glass green of Rye’s beautiful eyes seemed to darken this close, his pupils a whole galaxy between them.
Embry finished meekly, “Idocare about you but… if I cared less, I might be able to describe how I feel in a better way.”
Her finger slid away from Rye’s mouth, down his chin, and then—because it apparently had a mind of its own—up his jaw and into the battle-worn disaster of his hair. Yes, it looked even better than usual. In response, Rye’s jaw dropped, and Embry knew she should move her hand, that she’d crossed a boundary, that they were too close to have a serious conversation—
Rye leaned forward and kissed her.
Quick and hard, like a hand grazing a hot stove.
He was there and gone, and an apology was immediately tumbling into the air the instant he jerked back, out of her grip. “I’m sorry, Em, I should’ve asked for con—”
Embry cut him off with a kiss of her own.
She flung both hands around Rye’s neck and pulled him into her, making it very clear that apology he’d swallowed could stay buried. Embry wanted this, and his own actions were all the consent she needed on her end to believe he wanted it, too.
After a stiff moment of surprise, Rye returned the kiss, his palms skating down her arms to settle firmly on her waist. The cool fabric of their absolutely trashed (but magically un-stinky) running clothes slid seam to seam as their bodies melted together. Embry swept her hands up from his neck back into his soft mop of hair, unafraid to touch it now, a waft of rosemary clinging to their embrace.
Rye tasted like stolen espresso and sunshine, of early mornings and full-moon nights, of always calling her on her bullshit and movie marathons on winter days with snowdrifts kissing the living room windows. Of magic, of home.
