Page 51 of Heart & Hope

“Well, that’s my cue, too,” Louisa says, wrapping me in a one-armed hug before wandering after her son.

“Subtle, your lot.”

Reed pulls me into his arms, his hand running over my hair. “You don’t have to do this. You have too much on your plate already.”

I slide a hand onto his shirt and look up at him. I like his arms around me. It feels good. Right. Like someplace warm and sturdy.

“I want to. Besides, what are friends for, Reedsy? If I didn’t help, when I am the best event planner you know, that would be unforgivable.”

He chuckles, bending down so his mouth brushes my hair by my ear. “You’re the only event planner I know, baby.”

“That too,” I whisper.

Air rushes in and out of my lungs like it’s pulled by hurricane winds. I want to run my hand up his chest, let it wander over his throat and his Adam’s apple that bobs as he swallows. His eyes drop to my mouth.

When he moves, still only inches from me, it takes everything I have to not cup his face and draw his mouth down to mine.

Friends.

We should stay friends.

Rule number one.

Rule num?—

Reed smashes his mouth to my lips, and his hands are in my hair a heartbeat later. The air in my lungs disappears entirely. My body floods with electricity, the zing palpable where his fingertips meet my skin as they run down my neck and back up to hold my face.

I open for him, and his tongue sweeps in, claiming every part I offer up. Desperate to be closer, I press against his taut frame.

He breaks away.

“Shit, fuck. I’m sorry, Rubes.”

His hands are in his hair, running through it as he walks a tight circle by the trunk of the tree. The willow shrouds us in its dangling, enclosed green canopy still. I stand rooted to the spot, arms by my sides, air churning in my lungs.

And I am definitely not sorry. I don’t really know what I am, to be honest. But it’s not sorry.

For some reason, whenever I’m around Reed, I feel things I don’t usually. I haven’t.

God, no one has ever wanted me that much.

Ever.

“Reed,” I breathe.

“I know. I shouldn’t have done that.” He waves a hand toward me.

And when he leans against the tree, dark, fire-laced eyes burn into mine. After a heartbeat, he drags his hands down his face, the way he always does when he’s frustrated and doesn’t think anyone is watching.

I close the space between us. “It’s fine. It can be whatever you want it to be. But I’m not sorry you kissed me. That we kissed.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

Now, his shoulders move in even deeper cycles, and his mouth parts. “Can I do it again?”

The smile that stretches my face is possibly the biggest one I’ve ever had. “Do youwantto?”

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