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The lights above us cast a warm glow over the table. The temperature cooled down into something much more bearable since we got here. There's a slight breeze that wisps through the courtyard every five minutes or so. It's perfect outside. The stars light up the sky far above us, the low hum of laughter from everyone outside.
I'd have to be senseless to not feel the romanticism in it all. But maybe I'm caught up in the thrill of flirting.
“Why? Trying to see if I'm talking to other women already?” He arches a brow, slowly reaching into his pocket.
I blink in surprise. “Do your dates go through your phone often?”
“I thought you said this wasn't a date,” he quips, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.
“It's not.” My retort lashes out quickly, but it does nothing to cool the heat in my cheeks.
“I'm not.” He lifts a shoulder, his teeth releasing the hold on his lip. “Talking to other women.” His thumb sweeps across the screen of his phone, and a second later, he sets it in the palm of my hand, unlocked. He holds my gaze the entire time. “And no, I don't make it a habit of giving anyone access to my phone.”
I nod and school my expression into something neutral like that news doesn't please me. It's an irrational thought, and I brush it aside. Instead, I add my phone number in his contacts. My thumb hovers over the name, internally debating if I should save it under something quirky or memorable.
But in the end, I just type in my name.
As I hand his phone back, our fingers brush against each other, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. I try to ignore the sensation as I watch him lock his phone and tuck it into his pocket without looking at it. My heart thumps wildly inside my chest, anticipation swelling inside.
The silence between us stretches out, neither of us wanting to break it. It's comfortable, though, not awkward.
He's the one to finally speak up. “You know, I never did get to finish that question earlier. What brought you to Rosewood?”
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady at the topic change. I thought for sure he'd call me out on giving him my number. “My grandmother left me her house in her will.”
“I'm sorry for your loss,” he says softly, his hand hovering over mine.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The memories of my grandmother still hurt. Even though it's been a whole year, it feels like I've been missing her in my life for much, much longer.
The moment is broken by the sound of his phone chirping in his pocket. I don't know what's more surprising: the fact that he has his phone on any noise at all or the fact that it's a chorus of what sounds like chirping chicks.
He pulls out his phone and checks the notification before letting out a sigh. “I hate to cut this short—”
“It's fine.” And it is. I was going to head home soon anyway. Somewhere between the first mojito and now, I decided that tomorrow is the day I start going through Nana Jo's house.
My house.
He stands up from the table and reaches out a hand to help me up. I take it, feeling the same jolt of electricity as before. “Let me walk you back to your car.”
I let him pull me to my feet, enjoying the way his hands feel on me more than I probably should. He rests his fingertips along my back the entire walk back to The Wild Boar, ushering me around townspeople strolling around downtown. We don't talk much, the mood shifting quicker than I understand. But it's just as well, there are plenty of people to look at, even at this time of night.
“I'm just right there.” I tip my head to the left, indicating my car parked alongside others at the curb.
He stops, turning toward me. His eyes meet mine, the blue seeming darker in the nighttime, before slowly dropping to my lips. Instinctively, I swipe my tongue across them.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, low and muted. Pained. The air surrounding us thickens, anticipation sounding across my skin like a chorus line of tap dancers.
He sinks his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, letting them tangle in the wild strands. The heat from his palm warms my skin, and I unconsciously arch into his hold.
Nova leans in as he tilts my face toward him. My lips part on an exhale, my heart thundering in my ear, and I wait.
Those two seconds feel like an eternity, but finally—finally—his lips press against mine. They're soft, plush—gentle. A sweep of his mouth along mine.
It's a prelude. A promise of what's to come.
The kiss is still slow and languid, as if we have all the time in the world. As if we're not standing on the sidewalk in the middle of downtown.
As if this isn't our first kiss but our thousandth.
