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An exhale, her palm covering his hand. “I like you,” she whispered.
That warmth grew. “I know,” he whispered back.
A huff of air, a flashing in her pretty hazel eyes, the gold growing. “Annoying.”
“That, too.”
“Cocky.”
He lifted a brow. “You sure this is the path you want the conversation to go along?”
Now laughter joined the party, and she leaned in, brushed her lips against his. “You sure you still want this messed-up woman whose own family doubts her?”
Sad hadn’t been invited to the get-together.
Unfortunately, it had decided to crash in anyway.
Bastard.
“You sure you want to let in a messed-up man who doesn’t even know his own heart or head?” he countered, just to see her smile.
A breath before she captured his hand, brought it to rest on her chest, just above where her heart beat beneath her ribs. “I’m sure.”
Then she smiled.
“Good,” he whispered. “Because as much as I want to say I’d keep my distance”—he ran his thumb over her bottom lip—“I don’t think I can.”
Soft.
Fingers twining with his.
Curvy and soft.
Body pressing to his.
Warm and gentle andsoft.
Heart beating against palm.
“Neither can I,” she whispered.
Relief, heady and heavy, coiled through him, seizing his lungs, making it nearly impossible for him to suck in a breath.
But then he did.
He breathed. He sat in this moment. He let himself just be there with Teresa. Without worrying. Without trying to fix everything.
Just with her.
Just sharing breath and body heat and skin-to-skin contact.
And…it was perfect.
* * *
Eventually, they pulled apart and ate the pastries Mel had given them, drank the now lukewarm coffee.
They talked, not about heavy shit.
