Page 71 of Truly Madly Magically

Everyone’s keeping track. Taking care of us even on this side of the river, far off the bricks.

“Emerson’s going to be pissed if we stay much longer,” Zander finally says.

“Yeah,” I agree.

Neither of us moves.

He looks down at me.

I turn in to him.

I think maybe we’re both going to speak, but our eyes meet, and no words come out. Not because I want to lie, for once, but because I don’t.

I don’t know how to speak past all this longing. All this dangerous, revolutionary pining for something good. Something safe and hot and mine.

Something that feels the way joy should, too close to tears and brighter than the sun inside me.

He lowers his mouth to mine. Slow, when I’m not sure we’ve ever been slow about anything unless we were trying to torture each other.

This isn’t that. It’s not hesitation either. Zander seems absolutely sure.

It’s like he’s giving me a choice.

A choice I should turn away from and don’t, but this isn’t a surprise. Choices aren’t my strong suit.

But I make one, don’t I? I lean into him.

His mouth touches mine. A touch. I wouldn’t even call it a kiss.

The brush of lips.

Our breath mingles for a second before he pulls me closer.

He hasn’t kissed me like this in over ten years. I wouldn’t have let him if he’d tried. I shouldn’t let him now. There’s too much up in the air. Too much I’m almost certain to mess up to let myself be kissed with tenderness.

Still, I don’t pull away. I don’t put a stop to it or turn it wilder, like I could. Like I would have even a few hours ago.

I sink into the soft, into the gentle.

Into him.

Into all that love we won’t admit but can’t leave behind.

18

SOMEWHERE, DEEP DOWN, there’s an alarm bell ringing inside me. It’s so faint under the warmth of this blanket, the heat of his arms around me, the familiar sweet fire of Zander’s lips on mine.

It’s gentle. Like a question instead of the usual Beltane exclamations. Like we have eternity to sit by the river and kiss each other like we’re new. Maybe we do. I could be on board with that. Because all the places I’ve cracked apart today have been filled in—by joy, by love, by this kiss.

“We can head back to Wilde House,” Zander says against my mouth.

He’s giving me an out—well, sort of. His hand sliding up my spine to curve around the back of my neck doesn’t give me much space for outs. His mouth traveling down my neck has me forgetting, momentarily, that he’s said anything at all.

Wilde House. People. Our ghosts.

All the relatives have probably cleared out by now. We can reset. Go back to how things were before the Undine started issuing orders.

I know I should take that option. I’m sure the wise move is to step back from this, because it’s too much. The past twenty-four hours have been too much.

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