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“I told you. I’m fine.”
He moves his hand across the table. The door to the garden is closed, but that doesn’t mean we’re safe or private. Rosa could appear any second, or Eddie or another guard. Would the guards tell on us?
“It doesn’t matter,” I say after a moment.
“If it’s bothering you, it does.”
“Just…”
I sigh, not sure how to go on. I’m dangerously close to revealing something embarrassing that happened after Mom, but I can’t let myself go there. Why do I even feelcomfortablethinking about going there? Only with Leo.
“You can talk to me,” he says.
“Can I? Why?”
“Because we’re…”
“Dating?” I say, laughing, because it’s a joke.
Ithasto be a joke. There’s no way we can date while Rosa has no clue about it. Some secret kissing, touching, and steam are fine, but dating is another thing.
“That’s one word for it,” he says darkly.
“But it’s over, remember?”
“Does it feel over?” he asks with a sad smile. “I told myself the same. That’s why I’ve been staying away. Then I see you, Emma, and…”
The table is small enough for him to lean right over it. He still wouldn’t be able to kiss me if I didn’t want him to, not if I leaned away, scooched my chair back, and turned my face. I do none of those things. Instead, I meet him in the middle and collapse into the hottest moment of my life. That’s what it feels like when our lips meet, his mouth opening, eager for my tongue, mine just as eager for his. Both of us make pleasure sounds as I grab onto his arm, squeeze, and feel his muscle, the strength that will always keep me safe.Ussafe, our family.
I’m panting, gasping through the kiss, and squeezing his arms. Suddenly, I imagine Rosa seeing us like this. It ruins it, yet it’s still an effort to pull away.
“You’re so damn addictive,” he snarls. “Everything about you. Your smile. Your kisses. Your body. Your sass. Your passion. Your loyalty.”
I laugh harshly at the last one. “Loyalty? Really?”
“I’ll admit it’s confusing, but I can tell you’re loyal.”
We say nothing for a while, and then he asks, “Are you going to tell me?”
“Tell youwhat?”
“What’s eating you up?”
“It’s no—”
“It’ssomething. I want to know.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re dating.” He smirks. “Remember?”
I smile at him despite everything, the whole state of our world. It’s terrible, but I do it, and it feels good. There they are again,feelings. I sigh, studying the plants as I speak. It would be nice to get it off my chest and to know. I mean, Ialreadyknow, but to hear him say it. Is this a form of anxiety?
“After Mom died,” I say, then stop and bite down.
The words hurt.
“It’s okay,” he says with surprising softness.
