Page 47 of Freeing Camila

The kiss wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t about passion, not yet. It was aboutpresence.About all the words they hadn’t said and the fear they hadn’t voiced. About surviving the hard things and finding each other on the other side.

He tilted his forehead against hers when they broke apart, his breath mingling with hers in the quiet night air.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

He smiled, the kind of smile that felt like a vow. “I’m here.” He cupped her cheek, brushing a thumb beneath her eye, wiping away a tear. “I’m here, sprite.” His lips met hers again in a kiss that was quiet at first, reverent. The kiss deepened. There was fire behind it now—days of silence, fear, want—all crashing into this moment.

She tasted like salt and sweet relief. And so incredibly good. Almost too good; the sheer perfection felt unnatural, a tantalizing impossibility.

He almost pulled back. Almost.

But then she made this sound—low, barely a breath—and he was gone.

The kiss evolved, no longer tentative but urgent, hungry. His hands slid into her hair, pulling her closer, like maybe if he held her tight enough, he could keep the rest of the world from creeping in. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, clutching him like she didn’t want to let go.

Neither did he.

Her mouth opened under his, soft and yielding, and the fire between them blazed hotter. Time folded in on itself. There was no before, no after—just her lips, her warmth, the way she melted against him like she’d been waiting for this as long as he had.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her hands slid up into his hair, fingertips trembling. Her eyes searched his, full of questions, but she didn’t ask a single one.

His hands moved to cup her face. He brushed his thumbs across the soft skin of her cheekbones. “I thought about this. About you. Every damn second I was gone.”

“I thought about you too,” she replied, that attractive rosy blush coloring her cheeks. He swiped his thumbs over the hue, feeling the heat from it. With a worried frown, she raked her eyes over him, and then softly asked, “You’re okay?”

He smiled to ease her concern. “I’m good. Just tired.” His stomach chose that moment to lodge a complaint at having been ignored all day. He chuckled. “And hungry.”

“I was just about to make something for dinner,” she said, dropping her hands and stepping back. He was loath to let her go, but he let her take his hand and followed her to the kitchen. The aroma of brewing coffee filled the small space.

Unable to resist the tempting smell of dark, roasted coffee beans, he asked, “Whatcha been brewing?”

“Something new I’m testing out,” she said, while grabbing a mug and filling it from the carafe.

He took the mug from her hands; the coffee was still steaming, the rich aroma curling up into his senses.

One sip, and his brow lifted.

It was bold—darker than he expected, smooth but with a quiet strength behind it. The kind of brew that didn’t just wake you up; itunfoldedin you, warm and grounding. There was a hint of something unexpected too—spice, maybe, or peach—something subtle that made his mouth tingle and his curiosity spark.

“This isn’t just coffee,” he murmured, eyes on the mug, then on her. “This is you in a cup.”

She laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “That bad, huh?”

“No,” he said, a slow smile pulling at his lips. “Thatreal. Strong, surprising, and something I want more of.”

He took another sip, watching her over the rim. She looked away first, cheeks pink, but he didn’t miss the smile tugging at her mouth.

He wondered if she knew what kind of magic she was stirring up—with her beans, her brew . . . and the way she made him feel like home was wherever she was standing.

“Okay . . . so . . . dinner,” she finally said, turning toward her refrigerator to begin pulling out ingredients. Before long she had whipped up a hearty bowl of spaghetti and a batch of garlic bread. The mixture of smells from her small kitchen, which included the heavenly aroma of the coffee and the spices from the dinner she was cooking, felt like a warm embrace.

They sat down at her bistro table and started to eat; upon tasting his first bite, a sound of pure enjoyment escaped his lips. Possessing a seemingly endless array of skills and abilities, the woman continually astonished him with her impressive talents. Her cooking was just the tip of the iceberg, he was sure. A burning curiosity consumed him, urging him to uncover everything about her.

The conversation flowed easily between them. He liked listening to her stories nearly as much as kissing her. “Bubbles, huh?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he pictured her clumsy, giggling attempts at blowing perfect spheres of iridescent soap. “Wish I could have seen that.” Remarkably, he found that statement to be true. He did feel a pang of disappointment he’d missed her attempt.

“I can try it again sometime,” she promised. “Now that Kaia taught me how, I’ll surely succeed.”

“Kaia?”

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