Page 55 of Terms and Traditions

I slipped a hand on her waist, tugging her closer. Leaning in, I whispered in her ear. “We giving the people what they want?” And here I was, complaining minutes ago about Elijah’s interruption.

I expected her to laugh. Blush. Swat my chest even. What I wasn't expecting was for her to fist my Henley and drag me into a kiss. Her lips brushed mine, soft and hesitant. Like she was suddenly regretting her momentary boldness.

But I was not.

One hand still on her waist, the other threading into her short hair, I tilted my head, deepening the kiss. Something clicked inside me as her fingers teased the hair at the nape of my neck, like two souls meeting. I couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t care when the woman in my arms tasted like forever. And peppermint ChapStick.

Remembering our audience with young eyes, I pulled back, leaning my forehead against hers. Stephanie’s cheeks were a becoming shade of pink, her hazel eyes sparkling. She appeared all-around thoroughly dazed—I smirked knowing I’d done that to her.

A wolf whistle pierced the air. I’d bet money on that being Great-Aunt Edith, but I didn’t turn away. Just focused on the woman in my arms. Finally.

“Hey,” I whispered.

“Hey.” Her voice was breathy.

Her family faded away, the noise softening to a distant hum as they moved on to torture another relative with the kissing pole.

“Maybe you’ll let me kiss you for real sometime,” I said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

Her eyes widened like sparkling snow globes. I’d always loved her big, expressive eyes. “That kiss felt plenty real.”

I chuckled softly, still holding her against me. Our gazes held, and she kept her hands resting on my chest. Could she feel how fast my heart was beating right now? “Maybe, but I never intended our first kiss to be for show.”

Stephanie swallowed hard. “You… You’ve thought about kissing me then?”

I smirked a little sheepishly. “Probably more than I should have.”

She bit her lip. A hundred thoughts danced across her face before she tugged out of my grip. Grabbing my hand, she dragged me down the hall after her. We bumped into Veronica—our original welcoming committee—when we turned a corner towards the kitchen.

Veronica swore loudly, eyes narrowing on our joined hands. “You should—”

But Stephanie didn’t stop to engage. Just hauled me—her willing captive—into a blessedly deserted kitchen, marching us towards a frosted glass door in the corner and yanking me inside after her.

The room was small, mostly dark, and most definitely a pantry.

“We don't have an audience now,” she said softly, flicking a switch, causing the small incandescent lightbulb overhead to cast unnatural shadows over the shelves.

I glanced around. No, we most certainly did not. I studied the jam jars on the shelf above her head. “A pantry, huh? Very romantic.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Oh, forget it.”

I laughed, grabbing her arm and tugging her towards me as she tried to open the door. “Never said I didn’t appreciate the sentiment, Steph. Pantries can absolutely be romantic. Care for some flours? White or whole wheat?” I motioned to the bags overhead with my free hand.

She eyed the overhead bags warily. “I told Nana those were a death trap.”

I leaned down, nudging her nose with mine. “What a way to go, though.” I could see the gears in her head, whirling a hundred thoughts a minute. Overthinking and overcalculating. “Steph, we don’t have to do this,” I said simply. “I’m here for the long haul.”

Stephanie fisted a hand against my chest then smoothed it out, meeting my gaze. “Yes,” she said simply.

“Yes?”

“To this being real. I… I want to try us for real. Not faking it. If… if you still want that?”

“I do,” I rasped, hardly believing all my dreams were coming true in a kitchen pantry with jam and flour for witnesses.

Stephanie swallowed hard. “I want a real kiss, Nash. Not for my family or for show.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “For me.”

Who was I to deny that sweet wish? “Yes, ma’am.”