Page 44 of From Nowhere

“You should bring Lola by to visit Bandit.” I lift my gaze.

“Hmm, we’ll see about that.” He lifts a single brow, which matches his crooked grin.

“You do that.” I nudge the toe of my white sneaker into his black boot. “Well, thanks for the drink,” I say, but I can’t bring myself to turn and open the door.

“You’re welcome,” he says without moving an inch.

This is where he should kiss me. But we’re taking it slow, so maybe this is not where he kisses me. It’s just where the tiny embers in my chest slowly burn, making it hard to breathe while standing this close to him.

“I’m tripped up right now,” he murmurs.

“How so?”

“I feel like I should sneak a kiss, but I also feel like it’s unfair to you.”

I swallow hard. “Why?”

“Becauseyou’re going to get in your vehicle anddrivehome, and I’m not.BecauseI unintentionally ghosted you.BecauseI think we should take it slow, but I don’t know what’s considered slow. Instead, I’m standing here trying to figure it out in real time, and—”

I lift onto my toes, press my palms to his cheeks, and kiss him. It’s not long, but it’s not short. It’s not a hungry kiss, nor is it a peck. It’s a first kiss.

The perfect first kiss.

And when it’s over, we share the same smile as I lower to my feet in tiny increments, letting my hands linger on his warm face, whiskers tickling my skin. “Sometimes you just have to say fuck it and kiss the girl. We’ll figure the rest out later,” I murmur.

If torture had an expression, it would be Ozzy’s face. I’m the first woman he’s kissed since his wife died. Brynn wove threads of her soul into his heart, and any woman who comes after her will get tangled in a mess of abandoned emotions.

Am I willing to be that woman?

I don’t know, but I can’t stop thinking about him. And I rescued a kitten today because his daughter lost her mom and will forever live with those scars from the accident. I couldn’t let the kitten she held in her arms die.

“Say something,” I whisper.

“I ...” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You could say good night.”

“I’m not ready to do that.”

Is vulnerability sexy?

Yes. It absolutely is.

“Do you like cool photos of fires?” I ask.

He narrows his eyes. “Maybe.”

I jerk my head toward my RAV. “No driving. I won’t even start it. We can sit in my car, and I’ll show you some cool wildfire photos.”

“You fly and take photos? Seems dangerous.”

“Ha! No. I have a friend who’s a photojournalist.”

Ozzy reaches past me, opening my door. “After you.”

We spend more than an hour leaning into each other over the center console, scrolling through photos on my phone. Ozzy eats up everysingle one. And anything with a plane or helicopter, he zooms in and names the aircraft and everything amazing about it.

“I gotta go,” he says, shifting his attention from my phone to me.

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