Shock flares, bright and brief within me.But before I have any time to react, his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is unrestrained.
Unapologetic.
I open for him instantly, instinct taking over before thought can catch up.His tongue sweeps inside, sure and claiming, and the kiss deepens until it steals the air from my lungs.His hands grip my face the way someone holds something they refuses to lose.The kiss is slow, then hungry, then slow again.He wants it all and is incapable of choosing how to take me.
I wrap my arms around his forearms, not to stop him but to anchor him there, to make sure he doesn’t pull away.The world narrows to the warmth of his mouth, the pressure of his hands, the way the kiss stretches on and on until time is irrelevant.
My lips feel too full, too sensitive, like they were made for this—made to be kissed until nothing else exists.It’s the kind of kiss that’s been missing from my life.The kind of kiss that changes things.
When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t let go.His hands stay on my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, his head tipped down so close our noses almost touch.His breath is warm against my lips, and my breathing comes out uneven.
I should feel sick with the realization that I’m a reporter here to tell his story.That this—this—could ruin everything.
Instead, I’m lightheaded.
Giddy about him.
With the fact that he came to me, crossed the square, the crowd, the weight of his father’s death and the memory of these ten years without him, just to cradle my face like this.To kiss me.
For one suspended moment, the town fades into background noise, and all I know is Maddox Hartley—standing in front of me, choosing me, right here in the open.
And I don’t want him to stop.
“Mad.”A woman’s voice slices through the moment.Intimate and certain.
I don’t know why, can’t explain it, but it lands like a slap in the face.And he stiffens before he moves, the subtle lock of his body only confirming what my instincts already know.This interruption matters.
She taps his arm, determined to be seen, and his hands slip from my face.He steps back, and the sudden distance between us feels vast, disorienting.A crushing loss.
He turns, fully now, and I finally get a good look at her.
I’d know her anywhere; I’ve seen her face online in old race and party photos.
Erica.
This small—maybe five-two at most—woman launches herself at him, but she moves like she knows exactly how to use her body.Without hesitation, she jumps so she can loop her arms around his neck, trusting him to catch her.
And he does.His hands wrap around her, solid and sure, holding her there for more than a beat.Long enough for something sharp and cold to settle in my chest.
I can’t shake the feeling I’ve witnessed a habit of love, formed long ago, back when the future still belonged to them.
She’s stunning.Lithe and compact, with smooth, tanned skin and shoulder-length black hair that swings as she laughs.Dark brown eyes shine with delight, but there’s a bleakness beneath it that doesn’t quite settle.
Her clothes look lived in—jeans faded at the knees, a jacket that’s seen better days—and her boots are scuffed, slightly too big.She feels real.Familiar.Like someone who once belonged here—and maybe still does.
Maddox gently lowers her to the ground and takes a step back.
“What are you doing here?”He holds her at arm’s length, examining every inch of her, as if to make sure she’s in one piece.
She grins, unfazed, batting her lashes.“Silly.I told you I was coming.”
Her gaze skitters around the square, landing nowhere for long.“I’m so glad I made it in time for the memorial.I loved your dad.”She leans into him as she says it, her small body pressing close, claiming space that once was hers.“I really wanted to be here for you.”
I wait for an introduction.
It doesn’t come.