Page 63 of Once Upon a Fall

“Like that?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, and wait for him to do it again.

He doesn’t. He’s waiting.

“But maybe a little more this time,” I say.

His lips touch mine again. More pressure this time, but still gentle.

“Better?” he asks when he pulls away.

“Mm-hmm,” I say, but the sound barely escapes my mouth.

We’re sitting on the back of my car, his hand against my face, his mouth barely an inch from mine, and all I can think is more. I want more.

So I tell him. Just one word: “More.”

That’s all the permission he needs. His hand slides to the back of my neck and draws me in, the short hair of his beard brushing my skin as he pulls me into a kiss that’s still gentle but no longer careful.

My hands find his jacket, grabbing on for dear life as Dean deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in the hair at my nape.

It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had, the kind that feels like he’s giving as much as he’s taking.

Somewhere below us the town is asleep, my garage is empty, and there are tables coming at eight in the morning.

And all I want right now is this.

Dean

The prince was paid in pastries. He considered it a fair trade.

The next morning, I stand outside and watch as Rosie—wearing faded khaki overalls, her hair in a ponytail—guides the driver to back up the delivery truck carrying the tables for the festival to the now-empty garage.

Moving Hal’s truck was the right call. A few minutes before the delivery arrived, Hal texted Rosie. She stared at the screen, not wanting to open it, then handed me the phone and asked me to read it first.

All it said was: No problem, Rosie. Thanks for holding onto her for me.

“So, he wasn’t mad,” she said. I swear I could see the tension leave her shoulders.

It’s getting harder to watch her take on everyone else’s problems and stay out of it. Not because I think she can’t handle them. She clearly can. It’s the way she’ll make things harder on herself before asking anyone else for help, or space, or even her own garage back.

Which is probably why I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the fact that last night, Rosie asked me to kiss her twice. And then asked for more.

When we got back to the inn, she asked me to kiss her one more time before we went to our separate rooms. I was more than happy to oblige.

“Dean?” Rosie asks.

Her brows are pinched, like it isn’t the first time she’s tried to get my attention.

“Yeah?” I say, giving her a no, I wasn’t staring at you and thinking about kissing you smile.

I think she can see right through it, because her cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on things while I go inside? I need to make some calls. I’ve got to see who can bake pumpkin pies for the festival,” she says, tipping her head toward the garage. Somehow, I missed that the men have already started stacking tables while I’ve been standing here. Like a moron.

What is happening to me?

“Of course,” I tell her.