Page 126 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
That slow, aching pull that had been tugging between us finally aligned, as if the universe had been holding its breathfor this. Her lips were soft against mine—cautious, hesitant. As if she wasn’t sure this was allowed. As if she’d spent so long denying herself the softness she craved that even this small kiss felt like an act of rebellion she wasn’t quite ready for.
But then something shifted.
Her mouth moved with mine. Still gentle. Still searching. But less afraid.
I pressed in closer, letting my hand trail along her jaw. Her skin was warm beneath my fingertips, and her body didn’t shy from mine. She leaned into the space between us. The kiss wasn’t hungry or frantic. It was slow. Measured. Full of longing. Full of questions, and the lessons we still had to learn about each other, and all the answers we’d never be able to put into words.
When her hand brushed my forearm, my mind blanked. The touch was careful, a mirror of my own restraint, as if we both understood how easily this moment could shatter if we moved too fast. As if whatever had been blooming between us needed this softness to survive.
I kissed her again, deeper this time, letting my tongue meet hers, coaxing a soft gasp that caught in the back of her throat. She exhaled against my lips, and I tasted it all. The vulnerability, the fear, and that quiet hope I’d seen building in her these last few days.
My chest felt painfully full.
Slowly, we pulled apart, but barely. Just enough to breathe. Just enough to almost see each other again in the darkness of the tent.
Her breaths were uneven and delicate against my face, and she let out a soft laugh, sounding almost embarrassed.
“Was that in the contract too?” she teased lightly, squeezing my hand.
I smiled and squeezed back. “Definitely in the fine print.”
ELLIS
Tip #19: Choose the view that scares you a little. Elevation recalibrates the heart.
When we’d left Adrian, it had been with numb fingers and two takeaway breakfasts from the diner, each including a scalding coffee. I had eaten my breakfast wrap quickly and took my required pills before severely burning my tongue on the hot coffee, hissing at the same time as Dove—then we both snorted a laugh.
The cheap tent had packed away more easily than I’d expected, and I smiled when Dove mumbled something about being a tent whisperer as she folded the thing back into her bag. We repacked the trunk of the Mustang, the cold morning air curling around us, deflated grass beneath our feet.
I had stood beside Dove when we went back to the halfway point, watching as Dove scattered a portion of Margaret’s ashes, a sad smile on her face as she did so. Liv had stood with us, head bowed, and honestly, the only time I felt Liv was ever serious was when Dove scattered pieces of Margaret.
Now we were back on the road, the car seeming both full and empty with so much that was currently being left unsaid.
Neither of us talked about it.
The kiss.
I thought maybe Liv would have said something or made a big deal out of it. She had to have heard us—the Mustang had been right beside the tent, and I knew she’d been on the roof of the car last night. But she was once again back in that uncharacteristic silence that unnerved me. No teasing while we packed up, no sly comments about sharing body heat.
The silencecouldn’tcontinue.
We were two states away from her home, and she was clearly deep in her feelings about it.
How were we supposed to approach that?
We still didn’t know how she died. She just made these offhand comments every now and then, and I expected Dove to latch on and ask her. This was her field of work, after all; she would know what to say and how to say it.
My mind was in a continual spin, a spiral of thoughts as I tried to unpack the last forty-eight hours of this journey and failed miserably at making any sense of it.
Right now, as if marching across some grand stage, all I could think about was Dove.
How her fingers had felt on my face—soft but sure, as if she’d been waiting for the moment and was savoring it. I could still almost feel that tentative brush of her thumb along my jaw, the warmth of our breath filling the limited space between us.
I hadn’t realized just how cold I’d been until she kissed me. And it wasn’t the shivering kind of cold. It was the kind that lived deep inside you, that settled into your bones. The kind you get used to when you haven’t been held in years and most of your touch has been clinical. Monitored.
I could still feel every moment of that kiss, even now.
Her hand in my hair, tightening just slightly—but I could still feel her nails at my scalp. Her lips, warm and measured on mine. Her tongue moved with a slowness that let me know she was in no hurry for it to end.
