Page 106 of Hometown Girl

Straightening, she lifted her chin and met his eyes. “I get it,” she repeated softly.

He watched her, a little too closely, shaking her resolve.

“I should go.”

But as she turned toward the door, he grabbed the sleeve of her sweatshirt, pulling her toward him. Her breath caught in her throat, and his hands found the sides of her face. Drew’s eyes searched hers, and she could see it then—hewaslooking for something, but he didn’t know what it was. A desperation there gave him away—he was lost.

“Drew, I—”

He inched closer, brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, silencing her. “I’m not very good with words.”

In that moment, the world went quiet, and it was just the two of them, standing in the kitchen, their bodies only inches apart. He pulled her in, closing the gap between them, and kissed her—the kind of knee-buckling kiss she’d replay a thousand times.

He stopped abruptly and pulled back, looking into her eyes again. “I don’t really want to be polite.”

She swallowed, her lower lip trembling. “Then don’t be.”

With her hands pressed on his chest, she could feel his heartbeat, racing to match her own. He moved away from the counter, leading her backward until the wall behind her stopped them.

Her breaths came more quickly now. He leaned into her, hands pressed against the wall behind her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting his lips on hers.

He kissed her again, anxious and hungry, leaving her breathless and bewildered. Then he pulled back, giving her time to recover, to inhale the scent of him, to wish he’d go back to kissing her.

“Why are you really here, Drew?” The words came without her permission.

He rested his forehead on hers, lips close enough to be kissed.

“What is it you’re looking for?” Maybe she could help him. Maybe she could carry some of his burden—if only he let her in.

He straightened, still studying her face, but said nothing. He couldn’t tell her. Whatever it was, it either didn’t have a name or he hadn’t found a way to put it into words. She should’ve kept her mouth shut. Pressing him had only forced him to retreat back into himself.

And now it was too late.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” He wrapped his arms around her, kissed the top of her head. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Finally.

Please don’t let him be a serial killer. Or married. Please don’t let him be married.

But before he could get a single word out, the sound of tires on gravel pulled their attention outside.

“Are you expecting someone?” she asked.

“I don’t know anyone here, remember?”

She went to the window and saw Molly’s VW Bug speeding toward them—really, much too fast. “It’s Molly.” Beth looked around, tidying up the kitchen, as if there was evidence of what had just happened between her and Drew all over the room.

“What are you doing?” He watched her, looking perfectly calm.

She could feel the blood race up her neck and across her cheeks.

Before she could answer, Molly barged into the house, and Beth said a silent prayer of thanks it wasn’t three minutes earlier.

“Beth! You are not going to believe this.”

Bishop trailed close behind her. He stuck a hand out toward Drew, who shook it.

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