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Owen Larrabee, the least romantic person I’ve ever known, is giving me the most romantic moment of my entire life.
He scoots a little closer. “I tried not to fall for you, I really did. But I can’t stop thinking about you. And me. And I’ve been trying to think of some super romantic way to tell you because I know how you feel about that stuff, but the truth is, I just want you to know. I want you to know that I don’t want to spend another day without you. I don’t want to keep wondering how it feels to kiss you. I don’t want to have to ask for permission to hold your hand or stop over at your house without calling first. I want this—us—to work. And I didn’t think I’d ever want that again.”
“I feel like I’m dreaming, but if I am, I really don’t want to wake up.” A tear escapes and streams down my cheek.
He reaches for me, swiping it away as he closes the space between us, stopping just short of pressing his lips to mine. “Are you okay with this?”
“Are you about to kiss me?” I whisper, feeling slightly giddy at the thought.
“I am.”
“Then yes,” I smile. “I’m very much okay with this.”
He lets his hand rest at the nape of my neck, pulling me close and everything goes hazy. I want to remember every single detail of this moment, and I beg my nerves to calm down so I can.
A single second before his lips touch mine, I freeze. “Wait.”
He stops. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Am I sure I want to kiss you?” he asks, his voice breaking a bit. “Yes.”
“Are you sure that you and I are, you know, a good fit?”
“No,” he says. “But I’m willing to find out.”
I pause, and then, as if only now realizing it, I say, “You like me.”
His hand threads up into my hair, and he brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Yeah. I like you. A lot.”
I smile. “I like you too.”
“I think I might actually love you a little bit.”
My heart swells, and I move a little closer. In the soft glow of the twinkling lights, his face is warm and full of promise. “I think I might love you a little bit too.”
“Can we stop talking now?” he asks. “So we can—” he waves a finger from me to him to me—“you know. . .”
I nod.
And then, his lips are on mine. They’re soft and gentle at first, the revelation of a secret we’ve both been keeping.
Seconds later, the kiss is firmer, deeper, more intense, setting off fireworks inside of me that I cannot begin to quiet.
I could stay here forever, in the dim light of a hundred floating bulbs, whispering through the trees like even they are cheering us on.
I wrap my arms up around his neck, going up on my knees and pressing myself closer to him, because I need to be closer to him. He pulls me close, wrapping both arms around me, and it’s still not close enough. I love this man. I’ve always loved this man. Through all my childhood awkwardness to the days and weeks and years I tried to pretend he didn’t exist.
If he’d never come back to Harvest Hollow, I would’ve stayed single forever because I gave away my heart a long time ago, and frankly, I never wanted it back. Even after he left. Even though I was humiliated and ashamed. I fooled myself into believing I didn’t love him. I see it all so clearly now.
I never moved on because I couldn’t. Not knowing he was still out there. And now, he’s here, and I’m in his arms.
I never want this moment to end.
The kiss is better than every romance novel ever said it could be. It’s the promise of a future. With Owen. Nothing can top that.
When he finally pulls away, we’re both breathless, and somehow I know, this is only the beginning.
