“I’m not sorry.” Mary’s hand came up to rest on his chest, right over his racing heart. “I slept better with you here.”
They were so close. Inches apart in the small bed, their bodies aligned, her hand warm through his T-shirt. Bert could count the faint freckles across her nose, could see the flecks of gold in her blue eyes, could feel the rise and fall of her breathing.
He could kiss her if he wanted to. And God, he wanted to.
They lay there, staring at each other, the moment stretching and crystallizing into something that felt monumental. The ship rocked gently beneath them, morning light painted everything in soft gold, and Bert felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump.
“Bert,” Mary began, her voice barely above a whisper as her eyes dropped to his mouth. “I want you?—”
He erased the space, interrupting her as his lips barely grazed over hers.
It was a soft, tentative brush of lips that asked permission rather than demanding anything. Mary’s breath caught, her hand fisting in his T-shirt, and for a heartbeat, Bert thought he’d made a terrible mistake.
Then she kissed him back.
Her lips were soft and warm. She made a small sound in the back of her throat that sent heat flooding through Bert’s veins. His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone as he deepened the kiss slightly, still careful, still gentle, still giving her every opportunity to pull away if this wasn’t what she wanted.
But Mary didn’t pull away. She kissed him like she’d been waiting for this. Like she’d wanted it as much as he had and like all the months of careful friendship had been leading to exactly this moment.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder, Bert waited. He watched her face for any sign of regret or discomfort. Instead, Mary smiled at him, wide and bright and so beautiful it made his chest ache.
“I hope that wasn’t just for pretending,” she said, a hint of vulnerability beneath the lightness of her tone.
“Oh, no.” Bert’s voice came out rough and sincere. “That was all me. No pretending involved.”
Mary’s smile widened impossibly further, and Bert felt his heart, which had been heavy with caution and fear for so long, suddenly feel lighter than it had in years. Maybe lighter than it ever had.
“Good,” Mary said simply, her hand still fisted in his shirt like she was afraid he might disappear. “Because I’ve wanted you to do that for months.”
“Months?” Bert’s eyebrows rose. “You could have said something.”
“So could you.” Mary’s expression turned slightly accusatory. “We’ve been dancing around this for a long time, Bert. Both of us too scared to make the first move.”
“I was terrified of losing your friendship.”
“Me too.” She tugged on his shirt, pulling him closer. “But I think we’ve been more than friends for a while now. We just weren’t brave enough to admit it.”
“I’m admitting it now,” Bert said, his forehead resting against hers. “I care about you, Mary. More than I’ve cared about anyone. You’ve become essential to my life in a way that terrifies me and makes me happier than I’ve ever been.”
“Bert—”
“I know the timing is terrible,” he continued, needing to get this out. “We’re in the middle of a situation, we’re sharing a tiny cabin, and we’re supposed to be focused on helping Diane. But I need you to know that when I call you ‘sweetheart’ and hold your hand and look at you like you’re the most important person in my world… well, I’m not acting. That’s real. That’s how I actually feel.”
Mary’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “That’s how I feel too. About you. The fake engagement, pretending to be a couple… it’s not hard because it’s what I’ve been wishing for. Being able to touch you and have you close and act like we belong to each other? It doesn’t feel like a role at all.”
Bert kissed her again, deeper this time, pouring months of longing and hope into the connection. Mary responded with equal fervor, her hand sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.
When they finally broke apart, both flushed and breathing hard, Bert couldn’t help but grin. “We’re really doing this?”
“Define this,” she shot back, her brows raised.
He cupped her face again. “This is you and me. Friends. More than friends. Together.”
“Yeah,” Mary said on a long breath, still smiling and looking younger and lighter than he’d seen her in months. “Though we should probably focus on the Colin situation and save the relationship conversation for when we’re not trying to figure out if there is anything going on or if all of this was my imagination.”
“Practical as always,” Bert said fondly. “But yeah, you’re right. We’ve got work to do.”
Mary shifted in the bed, then pushed herself up to sit, and Bert immediately moved to assist, his hands gentle on her back.