Page 70 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

“It’s probably for the best Lily never knew. Imagine losing someone you love like that—what it does to you.”

I studied our fingers linked together, his larger fingers alternating with my smaller ones. Had that been how Dad had felt? He’d also lost the love of his life—and he’d taken off. Was it irresponsibility and lack of good character, like my brothers claimed? Or was it grief? Did it have to be all of one thingor another? Humans were complex creatures, and as much as we wanted to put people into a labeled box, our emotions and reactions weren’t always that easy to understand.

Nuance was uncomfortable but necessary.

But also so, so hard.

I ran the tips of my fingers across Dylan’s scarred knuckles. They were each bisected with small, white lines from cuts that had healed over and over again. He caught his breath, and it took me back to earlier when I’d been exploring his face. I didn’t know what it was about Dylan that compelled me to touch him.

His voice was husky when he said, “This place reminds me of all the best parts of growing up in Winterhaven.”

“What were the best parts for you?”

“Summer nights running around with Shiloh and Hudson. The first snow fall. When the pond froze over. Playing hockey until I couldn’t feel my limbs from the cold.” He ran his free hand over the tops of the long grass surrounding us. “The quiet and slow pace here. I didn’t appreciate that enough.”

“It sounds idyllic.”

“Those parts were,” he said. We were silent for a while, long enough for me to rest my head on his shoulder and feel his deep, steady breaths. Long enough for my heart to steady and to want to talk. Really talk.

“Somehow you keep finding out all my secrets.” I tipped my head up to take in his expression. The end of his beard tickled against the tip of my nose, but I didn’t move.

Dylan did, though. He shifted his head to kiss the tip of my nose. “I like knowing your secrets.”

Whoa. I liked him knowing them too. Especially if it earned me butterfly-light kisses that sent my heart fluttering and my thoughts scattering.

If I didn’t move an inch, maybe he’d kiss me again. Or maybe if I moved an inch, he’d kiss me somewhere else. My lips were right there.

Sure, this relationship wasn’t real. But what did real mean anyway? Reality was probably a construct of the patriarchy created solely to keep me from kissing Dylan Savage in a crumbling graveyard. So rude, if you ask me.

Catocles would approve of this kiss, of that I was certain.

Dylan tucked my hair behind my ears and let his fingertips draw a tender line on the soft skin of my neck and along my jawbone. He cupped my cheek and drew the pad of his thumb over my lips. His heated gaze drew me in, and I leaned closer to him, until his warmth radiated into me.

“We should practice kissing,” I said after another beat passed and neither of us moved.

“Oh, should we?” I felt the puffs of air from his words caress my lips. His fingers twirled in the little hairs at the nape of my neck.

“Mmmhmm,” I said, suddenly unable to form words. “For … practice.” I was pretty sure I’d already said that, but my brain was mush.

“That makes sense.”

Oh, good.

He pressed into me, his lips agonizingly close, when he paused and said, “When do you think we’d have to kiss in public?”

“All the time,” I said impatiently. “It’s a thing now.”

“Kissing in public is a thing?”

“Yes. Winterhaven is all about public displays of affection. Trust me.”

A beat passed, and he whispered, “I do trust you.” His lips brushed mine just the barest amount, before he pulled back again. Blood rushed through my ears. “But I think I need a scenario where we’ll be glad we practiced kissing.”

I huffed in frustration. “So that it’s clear we’re a real couple.”

“A fake couple that’s real.”

“Exactly.”

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