Page 8 of Kisses and Paperclips

Goddamn.

My grip tightens around my drink, and for a second, I swear she hears the shift in my breath. I don’t look away.

“Enjoying the view?” she asked, one brow arched, daring me.

“More than you know.”

She doesn’t shy away. Just picks up a shrimp with her fingers, holds my gaze, and takes another bite.

Suddenly, violently, she starts shaking.

Her shoulders tremble, body convulsing, a sharp, jerky movement that has me standing before I can think. I reach for her, my pulse kicking up, but then she leans back and laughs. A real, rich, unapologetic laugh. One that fills the space and spills into me before I can be mad about it.

People at the bar glance over, but she doesn’t care. Doesn’t shrink herself. I throw a napkin at her and laugh even harder.

“You play too much,” I said, shaking my head, but my mouth betrays me with a smile.

Tilting forward onto her elbows, eyes bright and warm. It’s like she’s lit up from the inside. “You should’ve seen your face.”

I lean back against the booth, watching her.

She’s still laughing, shaking her head, completely unguarded in a way I don’t think she realizes. Suddenly, I realized this was my first good look at her tonight. The light catches her face, and her smile owns the moment like it belongs to her. I knew she was beautiful when I first saw her. But like this?

She’s something different.

For a second, there’s something quiet in the space between us.

Something real. Something softer beneath all the sharp edges and quick-witted banter.

And it’s the kind of moment that makes a man forget why he was trying to impress her in the first place.

Because right now, in this tucked-away booth, watching her laugh, really laugh, listening to the way she says things like she doesn’t care if they land right or wrong…

This is the freest I’ve felt in a long time. Didn’t realize how much I missed it. Because when you give a man your blood, your sweat, your years, and when you break yourself open, piece by piece, only to have him turn around and hand everything you built to his bastard son?

It does something to you.

It makes every moment feel like a fight. Makes you look at people like problems waiting to happen. Makes trust feel like a liability instead of a choice.

And maybe that’s why this feels different.

Serena doesn’t know any of that.

She doesn’t see the man locked in a war with ghosts that refuse to stay buried. She’s not watching me like I owe her something. Not waiting for a misstep, another favor, a fight.

She’s just here.

And so am I.

And I didn’t realize how much I needed that.

This feels like standing too close to an open flame. Knowing better. Still reaching.

Because as I watch Serena now, there’s something in her eyes...a flicker of heat, a spark of challenge, daring me to step closer.

And I want to know how far she’ll let me go.

Her eyes squinted, making a cute expression. “Where’d you go?”

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