Page 51 of Home for Christmas in July

He dips his head, and my lips part, ready for his mouth on mine. More than ready.

And then he stops. He stops? He can’t stop. There’s no stopping in kissing. A mew of protest escapes my parted lips. He swallows.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

But he doesn’t. Because I rise on my toes and kiss him first—softly, tentatively, sweetly.

A low rumble sounds in his throat and he yanks me even closer, my hips flush against his body, as he grips my neck and kisses me back. There’s nothing soft, tentative, or sweet about it. He claims my mouth with his—hard, fast, and assured.

I arch my back and he digs his fingers into my hips. I’m twenty again. Transported by the familiar pressure of his mouth through time and space to a London street, oblivious to tutting passersby and honking cars. And at the same time, this kiss is nothing like any kiss we’ve shared. It’s richer, deeper, and tinged with life and loss and need.

I don’t think. I just give myself over to this feeling. And, wow, this feeling is strong. My ears ring. My chest vibrates with emotion. My … eyes open and I tune into the fact that approximately four feet away and maybe ninety feet above us in the bell tower, the gigantic church bell is clanging.

The power of thought slowly returns to me, as the bell peals overhead. Oh, right. The bell. That’s why we’re here. I manage a shaky laugh and step back, pressing my hands flat against Nick’s chest because I’m not quite ready to break contact.

“Church bell,” I croak in response to his dazed expression.

He nods and drops his arm around my waist, snugging meinto his side. I lean in gratefully because my legs are jelly. We wait for the ringing to end and the bell to fall silent. It’s a good thing we kissed. It’s better than good—for many reasons, one of them being that it probably saved our hearing. If we hadn’t detoured to explore one another’s tonsils, we’d be up in the belfry right now.

Once I can hear myself think, I clear my throat. “So.”

“So. Are we gonna talk about this now or after we look for the clue?” His eyes bore into mine. “Because make no mistake, Noelle, wearegoing to talk about it.”

If I have anything to say about it, we’re gonna do a lot more thantalk. But I leave this thought unexpressed. “After. Let’s get up in the tower and back down before the bell rings the half-hour.”

He searches my face with a skeptical expression. “We are going to talk, though.”

“Yes,” I promise. “Come on, let’s look for the clue.”

I pull him toward the walkway that leads to the front of the white clapboard chapel. Together, we run up the three wide steps to the always-unlocked door and into the narthex.

Inside, the chapel is hushed, cool, and dimly lit. The sanctuary doors are propped open and the early evening sunlight streams through the high windows. As I peek in and see the altar at the front, I remember the last time I stood looking down the aisle. A sudden realization punches me in the chest.

“This is where you and Carol were married.”

I know this, of course. I was her maid of honor. But the memory is a faded one. It wasn’t front of mind when we decided to look here for the clue. I drop his hand, and he gives me a sidelong glance.

“What?”

So much for talking later. I take a breath and gesture toward the bench inside along the wall. “I have to tell you something before we look for the next clue.”

He plants his feet. “You can tell me right here. We don’t need to sit.”

“Please?”

He pulls a face but parks his butt. I sit next to him and angle my knees toward him in a half-turn.

“So, what do you want to tell me?”

“How do I say this?”

“Just spit it out, Noelle. I’m a big boy. If you regret the kiss, I’ll be?—”

“—No!” I pull myself together and try again, less shouty. “I mean, no. I don’t regret the kiss. I very much don’t regret the kiss.”

“Good.” His mouth quirks into a satisfied grin. A very kissable grin.

“But,” I continue before I get distracted by the extreme kissability of his lips, “remember when I told you Carol asked me to do something before she died?”

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