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A moment later my phone buzzed with a response.
“My mom says, ‘Aw, cute. Glad you guys are having fun!’ I should tell her to make sure she shows the picture to my dad,” I jested.
“Hell no.” Dean plucked my phone from my hand and stuffed it in his pocket.
“That wasn’t nice.” I mock-pouted.
He lowered until his lips were only a breath away from mine.
“When you pout those pretty pink lips it only makes me want to kiss you.”
I gasped, overcome by the sudden need to have him kiss me.
He paused, waiting for me to respond.
When I didn’t pull away he pressed his lips to mine. They were soft against mine, a stark contrast to the stubble on his cheeks. I pressed into him, my palm landing flat on his chest as I deepened the kiss.
It ended all too soon.
I closed my eyes and laid my head against his chest as I gathered my breath.
I couldn’t believe how I’d never thought of Dean as anything but my friend until now. Us, together like this, felt as natural as breathing.
“What are you thinking about?” He asked, removing my hat and putting it on me backwards like I’d originally had it before he changed it.
“You. Us.” I shrugged. “How did I not notice before? This thing between us feels too big to be ignored.”
He stared at me seriously for a moment. “Sometimes the most important things stare us right in the face, waiting until the perfect moment to be noticed. This is our moment.” He reached out and grabbed a piece of blonde hair that swirled by my shoulder from a gust of wind.
This was the part where I should’ve said something meaningful and insightful back. Instead, I poked his side and said, “What the fuck are you? Yoda?”
Way to ruin the moment, Willow.
Dean chuckled and let go of the piece of my hair. “Just me, Willow. Just me.”
“I’m sorry.” I frowned. “What you said was really beautiful and then I had to go and ruin it.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t ruin it. You were being your typical, silly self.” He bent and kissed me quickly. “Serious declarations aside, we need to get moving.”
At his words I was reminded of the fact that were stopped in the middle of the festival and people had to keep parting around us.
“Oh, right. I forgot.”
Dean guided me forward and we scanned the booths we passed.
There were so many.
One held handmade crocheted items. Another had wind chimes. There were even stain glass windows for sale. Several booths boasted antiques and jewelry.
One of the jewelry booths caught my eye and I barreled forward, dragging Dean behind me.
I fingered the displays of necklaces, bracelets, and rings.
“These are beautiful,” I gasped in awe.
“Thank you.” The woman working the booth smiled pleasantly. She had wild curly blonde hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall, and kind brown eyes. “They’re all handmade.”
“Wow.” I touched a bracelet reverently. “I want them all,” I whispered to myself.
