Page 35 of Hold the Line

Yeah, it was no wonder he was quiet. That would have been a lot for anyone.

The episode ended as we entered Sugar Brush, and I switched on the radio, keeping the music soft to spark a little conversation.

“Giselle, Jett, and everyone else at the shop were pretty great.”

He tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs as he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Thanks for bringing me with you. I really liked meeting everyone. I’m still not sold on getting a tattoo, but if I ever decide on one, I’d trust Jett in a heartbeat.”

“Not Phil?”

It took me a second to remember who Phil was. When I did, I wondered why in the world Deacon was asking about him. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. I really love Jett’s style. Plus, I think he’d have me laughing through the whole thing. Maybe one day…”

“Maybe.”

That was all I’d gotten out of him the rest of the drive. My stomach twisted with disappointment. It had been such a lovely evening, but it wasn’t looking like it was going to end on a sweet note.

Once we were home and parked, we walked up the steps together. Deacon stopped with me on my landing, keeping a good distance between us.

Definitely not having a sweet ending.

I unlocked my door but stayed on my welcome mat, hoping for…something—a clue of what had gone wrong or why Deacon was so withdrawn.

“I had a really wonderful time, Deacon.”

He looked down at the leftover container clutched in his hand. “Good. I’m glad you did.”

I rubbed my lips together, searching for something to say to prolong this. “The piece you made for the shop is truly incredible.” I touched my toe to one of the planters he’d made me. “I knew you were talented, but that was beyond.”

“Thank you, Phoebe.” His gaze lifted, landing on my face. He took a slow meander over my features before locking onto my eyes. “I don’t know Phil, but if he works for Jett, he’s probably a stand-up guy.”

My brow dropped. “Okay…well, I’m not sure I want a tattoo, but like I said, I’d go to Jett.”

“I’m not talking about tattoos.”

“I—what are you talking about then?”

He scrubbed the back of his neck, puffing a heavy breath. “Aren’t you going out with him?”

I blinked hard. And again. “I thought this…tonight…oh my god!” I slapped my forehead, finally understanding what he was saying and how incredibly wrong I’d been. “Oh, I feel so stupid.”

He took a step toward me. “You’re nowhere near stupid. Why would you say that?”

I blinked a few more times, processing the concern etched in his expression. I’d never made such a misstep with a man in my life. Here I’d been thinking I’d been on the best first date ever and it hadn’t been a date at all.

“I misread things. That’s my fault.” I tried to sound nonchalant and waved him off as if I wasn’t mortified. “Phil did ask me out, but I turned him down. Partially because I’m not interested, but mostly because I thought I was there with you.”

“Withme?” His eyebrows shot up, his voice laced with disbelief like the idea was so absurd it couldn’t possibly be true.

“It’s my own fault for thinking tonight was a date. Don’t worry at all.” Reaching behind me, I twisted my doorknob, beyond ready to disappear and lick my wounds. “It’s late, and we both have to get up early. Thanks again for a lovely time. Good night.”

I managed to push my door open and take a single step into my apartment. Before I could slip inside and pretend this never happened, though, a warm hand gripped the back of my neck and spun me around so fast I collided with his chest. His other hand came up to cradle my jaw, his touch firm but gentle, his thumb brushing my cheek.

We stared at each other for one breath, then another. Before I could take my third, his soft lips touched mine, light and testing. I shifted closer, fisting the fabric of his shirt in my fingers, and he tipped his head, slotting his lips with mine.

At first, that was all it was: a press of tender flesh and slow exchange of breaths. Then, gradually, his lips parted, and mine followed, and it became more. The touch of his tongue to the bow of my lip. His fingers threading into my hair. The front of his hard body pressing, flushing with the soft give of mine.

It wasn’t a burst of fireworks. It was an incremental rise of a promise for what was to come. And somewhere in the haze of being kissed breathless, younger me was cheering. I was finally getting to kisstheguy, and it was more than I ever imagined back when I was doodling his name in hearts.

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