Page 63 of Unexpected Hero

Is love at first kiss a thing? I know there’s a saying about it happening at first sight. So I suppose it could be possible. Weirder things have happened, right?

I’ve never been kissed like that before. Hell, I didn’t know kisses like that were possible.

I swear I felt every bit of that ever-present stillness that always surrounds him. It radiated from him and penetrated my chest, calming and comforting me. Every shred of resistance he held onto was present in each move he made. His self-control was palpable.

Considering my emotions and scattered thoughts are always racing out of control, his steadiness is so damn enticing. His kiss quieted the constant rattle of my thoughts and silenced every nagging fear. And for those blissful few seconds, there was no shame brewing in me.

As we linger in our post-kiss cloud, the way he studies me sparks an all-consuming desire to dive back in and take more.

I’m a split-second from pulling his mouth back to mine when his face waxes over. His features harden, and his gaze falls from my face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

My heart splinters, and words tumble from my mouth before I think better of them. “Why not? I liked it.”

“It’ll only give you the wrong idea about this.”

No, no, no, no.

“What’s the wrong idea?” My head kicks back, and I add, “Hell, what’s the right idea?”

“We shouldn’t be... like that.”

“That?”

“Physical. It’s not a great idea.”

I beg to differ, but since he’s squarely back in his seat and physically retreating from me, I don’t argue. He doesn’t seem to want to hear my side. He didn’t ask, so he must not care.

My tone sharpens, matching the daggers I must be throwing from my eyes. “Why did you kiss me then? If we shouldn’t be physical, as you say, why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to make you happy again.” His tone is flat and emotionless. “I like you better when you’re happy and smiling. I made you sad, and I wanted to fix it. But I had no idea what I did wrong, so I didn’t have the words to remedy it.”

He likes me better? As if to say he only wants me to smile, be quiet, and look pretty?

Suddenly, I’m back in church, listening to the pastor preach about the woman’s role in the household. Anger and shame war it out in my chest.

The anger makes sense, but why the shame?

For not being good enough as I am? For behaving improperly? Being a woman? Did my sadness inconvenience him?

The old Lettie would apologize and put on a mask of happiness to smooth things over.

But the new me isn’t going to stand for it.

Job opportunity or not. Stupid crush on him or not. Most amazing kiss or not. None of that matters.

I’d rather starve or call Mama for money before I fall into a trap where I’m nothing but something pretty to look at. I don’t want to suppress my feelings anymore. Not around him or anyone.

If my emotions are too much to handle, then I’m too much to handle.

And I deserve someone who can treat me the way I can them — with strength, compassion, loyalty, and understanding.

That’s what I bring to the table, and I’ll accept nothing less in return.

“You can take me home, James.” Remembering my manners because they’ve been drilled into me along with all this shame and guilt, I automatically add, “Please.”

He shakes his head vehemently, drawing my attention away from the front windshield. “No, Lettie, please don’t be mad.”

With heaps of sarcasm, I drawl, “Oh excuse me, sir. I’m sooo sorry for having unpleasant emotions in your presence. Take me home, and it’ll never happen again.”

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