“Oliver…”
My name sounded fragile on her tongue, like she wasn’t sure whether to say it or swallow it down.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said quietly. “And I’m not going to walk away from this like it meant nothing.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
“But you’re leaving,” she whispered. “As soon as the weather clears, you’ll go back to London. And this, this will just be…” She blinked hard, shaking her head. “A moment… A mistake”
I stepped closer again until only a breath of space remained between us. Close enough to feel her shiver. Close enough that her perfume, soft and warm, like vanilla and winter citrus curled faintly around me.
“It doesn’t feel like a mistake,” I said. “Not to me.”
I reached up slowly, giving her every second to tell me no. My fingers brushed a snowflake from her cheek. She inhaled sharply, her eyes closing for a heartbeat, a surrender, a pull, a flash of something too real to label.
When she looked at me again, her gaze was unsteady.
“Oliver… if we do this?—”
“We already are,” I whispered.
The lights above us glowed softly, casting gold across her auburn hair. The square was quiet except for the distant hum of music spilling from the hall. The cold nipped at our skin, but it didn’t matter. She stood there beneath the giant Christmas tree like every wish I’d forgotten how to make.
I lowered my forehead toward hers, brushing the faintest bit of contact. She didn’t move; she didn’t pull away. Her eyelashes fluttered.
“Tell me to stop,” I whispered.
She didn’t. Instead, she leaned, just barely, the tiniest tilt of her chin toward mine. And that was all the permission I needed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The world felt impossibly still beneath the falling snow. The square glowed with warm amber light from the lanterns strung across the trees, their branches heavy with frost. Pine Hollow’s great Christmas tree towered above us. Its golden ornaments catching shards of moonlight, its star gleaming like a beacon over the silent night.
“Tell me to stop,” Oliver whispered.
I couldn’t. Not when his breath touched mine, or when warmth radiated from him into the freezing air. Even when everything in me was leaning forward, helplessly drawn to him.
So instead, I rose onto my toes and our lips met.
It was soft, unbelievably soft, almost fragile. A nervous brush of mouths that felt more like a confession than a kiss. His hand lifted to cradle my cheek, thumb feather-light along my skin, as if he were afraid, I might disappear. The snow fell around us in slow, glowing spirals, settling in my hair, melting against my cheeks as goosepimples brushed my shoulders.
Oliver kissed me like he’d been holding his breath for days.
When we broke apart, just inches, my pulse was wild and unsteady. He rested his forehead against mine, breathing mein, his voice a low tremor shaped by something he didn’t have words for yet.
“Brianna… I shouldn’t want this as much as I do.”
“Then we’re both in trouble,” I murmured.
His breath caught. His eyes flickered over my face as if memorising something he’d never allow himself to forget. Before either of us could stop ourselves, his lips found mine again.
This kiss wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t careful. It was a slow, aching hunger, restrained but spilling with emotion.
I clutched his coat, pulling him closer instinctively. He responded by sliding one hand to the small of my back, the other threading gently through my hair as if the very feel of me soothed something inside him.
Heat unfurled through me, starting low and spreading outward in a way that made my knees feel unsteady. His mouth moved against mine with a kind of longing that made my chest ache, filled with a wanting but also tender, like he’d been waiting years instead of days. When we finally separated for breath, we both stood there trembling, not just from the cold, but from the rawness of it all.
The music from the ball drifted faintly through the night, muted by the thick stone walls of the hall. Somewhere across the square, a group of teenagers laughed as they passed, their boots crunching through the snow, but all I heard was the sound of my own heartbeat.