Page 40 of Letters of Faith
He leans closer, whispering against my lips, “Ask me, Peach.”
“You’ve already done too much for me,” I protest.
“Ask me.”
I swallow, gathering all my courage, then ask, “Will you go on a date with me, Gray?”
A sly smile crosses his lips. There’s a spark that makes me giddy with excitement, “I thought you would never ask.”
Then he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to mine.
Chapter 18
Grayson
I’m going to be struck by lightning. Not only am I kissing my best friend’s girl, but I also haven’t told her about my letter yet.
If I’m going out, though, this is the way I want to go.
Georgia’s hand slides up my chest, around the back of my neck, pulling me closer—pulling me home.
I’ve dreamed about this girl, but I didn’t want to taint her with my darkness. I can’t go back now that I’ve tasted her lips on mine. There will never be another lifetime where I can resist holding her in my arms.
She deserves the world, but all I have to offer her is mine.
The kiss slows, and I pull back just enough to rest my forehead on hers. The frozen air clouds as our breaths mingle together.
“Peach.” Her name is a whisper against my lips, begging her to tell me she was there in that moment with me—that I wasn’t alone—but she shakes her head, not ready to talk yet.
My throat aches as I swallow, praying she doesn’t regret that kiss because even though I should feel guilty, I can’t force myself to.
I nod and step back, placing distance between us. There’s a war on her face that I can understand—I’ve been fighting the same one. Only hers is between honoring her husband and fighting the feelings she’s trying to hide from me.
She could choose anyone for this date, but the difference between me and every other guy she could choose is that I will honor her husband’s memory because he’s part of mine. I loved him, but I love her too. I always have, and because of that, I understand that she needs me to go slow.
I won’t rush this because you can’t rush forever—and I plan to give her my forever. There’s no more holding back for me—only waiting for her to catch up now.
“Come on,” I say. “I’ll call someone to pick up the car and bring it to the house.”
Placing my hand on her back, I guide her to my truck, careful of the slick spots. She’s remained quiet since the kiss ended. I want to know how she’s feeling and what she’s thinking, but I can give her time.
I open her door and take her hand as I help her in. Once she’s situated, I grab the seat belt and lean across her to buckle her in. Her breath stutters as my body brushes against her, and it’s enough for me right now. She was just as affected by that kiss as I was.
Leaning back, I brush her hair out of her face, taking her in. Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair is damp from standing outside in the snow, causing it to curl on the ends. I have to physically restrain myself from grabbing a piece and twirling it between my fingers. Swallowing hard, I lean back, throw her a wink, and shut the door—putting space between us so I can get my head on straight.
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The drive back to my house is quiet, filled with an awkward tension that I hate.
This is not the first nor will it be the last time I’ve wished I could read a woman’s mind.
My thumb drums against the steering wheel. I should turn on some music, but then Georgia might think I don’t want to talk about what happened, and I do—I really, really do. I’m not a man typically knownfor sharing my feelings, but for Georgia, I can—I will. I may not be good enough for her, but I’ll spend every day trying to be.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Georgia wringing her hands. Without thinking about it, I pull one of mine off the steering wheel, reach over, and place it over hers. She glances down at our hands and then at me.
The confusion in her eyes is gut-wrenching. She’s conflicted, and I hate that I’ve made her feel that way.
She starts to open her mouth to say something at the same time I pull into the driveway. She closes it when she sees the truck sitting there, a family standing outside of it—my family to be exact.
