Page 59 of The Overdue Kiss

Leaning back, I dive into my book, letting the world around me fade away. I’m instantly transported to a gloomy castle with hidden passages, forbidden magic, and a mysterious man in a golden mask.

Every so often, I vaguely hear Des’s hoots or grumbles, but the climax of the last two chapters has me in such a chokehold that I’m unable to peel my eyes away even for a second. Finishing the last sentence, I wake from my book coma, still straddling the line of fiction and the real world. Des’s living room blinks into focus, his TV off, the kitchen quiet. The two of us are relaxing together on the couch, a lot closer than I remember when I started my book.

“There you are. You were in a trance for the last hour.”

I sit straight up. “An hour?”

“All the jars have finished boiling and are cooling down.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks.

“Oh, goodness. Sometimes a good book just sucks me in, and I can’t put it down. Did I miss the game too? How did it go?”

He angles toward me, grinning.

“I’m guessing by your face it was a win.”

“Even better—it was a slaughter. I’ve never played so well before,” he says, then hooks an arm around my shoulder in a side hug. “You must be my good luck charm.”

The room charges at his simple touch, and that’s all it takes to set the butterflies in my stomach in motion. I hesitate for a second before convincing myself that friends hug each other all the time. Wrapping an arm across his chest, I allow myself to slide deeper into the hug so that his strong arms curl around me. His nose touches the spot behind my ear and he inhales deeply, like he had been wanting to do it for a while.

Doubts creep in the longer the hug lasts.

A friendly hug is one thing, and this was not it. A friend wouldn’t want to trace the muscles in his forearms the way my fingers itch to. A friend wouldn’t wonder what it would feel like to wake up in his embrace. A friend wouldn’t consider tilting her head so her lips would be easy access.

I suck in a breath when his thumb moves in slow circles on my side, his arms tensing like he’s fighting himself.

“Maya,” he whispers. It’s my name and yet it isn’t. It’s an admission. It’s a promise. It’s a question. “Please give me a chance. I’m not him nor will I ever be.”

For once, I’m torn. I do want Des. Goodness, I want him more than I should. But I’m scared. My heart can handle only so many bruises. The thought of repeating last December twists my stomach into knots. I can’t handle being discarded again when the next prettier girl walks by.

“Please don’t jump away... trust me.” He rests his cheek on my head, but his arms are still loose, letting me escape if I choose to.

It’s a risk, but one I can’t seem to say no to. I know Des is different, not because he told me so but because I’ve seen it over the days I’ve spent with him. I do trust him... and yet it’s hard to shut off the instinct inside me that screams to run at the first sign of commitment.

“I don’t know, Des.”

“I just want to hold you. Nothing more. If it’s too much, I’ll stop.”

The tension drains from my body inch by inch, until I am fully pressed against him, practically melting into his hard chest. We sit listening to the fireplace crackle and every so often one of the jam lids popping as it seals. Des runs a hand down my hair, stopping at the end so a curl can wrap around his index finger.

It’s a peaceful moment, so quiet that I can almost hear the steady beats of his heart as much as I feel them. I’ve never felt so connected to a person that even in the silence our bodies whisper to one another.

“I wish you weren’t leaving after the renovations,” he says, his voice gravely and deep.

“Me too.”

His breath catches, the steady beat in his chest accelerating. “Golden isn’t that far away. I could handle the commute.”

“Or I could ask my boss to allow me to bring my bookmobile to the school.”

There’s a long pause. “How much time do you think you have left until you have to go home?”

“Maybe this week? Next at the latest. I’m still working on the library, and Ms. Anderson has been really patient waiting for the data report. We just have to get the historical society on board.”

“We will. I typed up the petition while you were reading.” He angles his phone at me.

My heart flip-flops. “You did?”

---