Page 58 of Begin Again

And then there was the kiss.

I pause, the sponge in my hand forgotten as I replay it in my mind. The way he grabbed the back of my neck, his touch firm but gentle. The way he kissed me, hard and fast, only to soften it, like he couldn’t help but savor the moment. My lips still tingle when I think about it, and my heart does this stupid little flutter that makes me groan in frustration.

“You’re doing it again,” Celeste calls from the living room, where she’s lounging on the couch, doom scrolling through her phone.

“Doing what?” I ask, resuming my scrubbing with unnecessary vigor.

“Thinking about him,” she sing-songs. “You’ve got that dreamy look on your face. Admit it—you’re hooked.”

“No, I’m not,” I say, a little too quickly, a little too forcefully. My hands pause for half a second before I scrub harder as if sheer determination can erase the warmth creeping up my neck.

“Sure, you’re not,” she teases, but she doesn’t push further, for which I’m grateful.

Instead, she stretches, tossing her phone aside as she saunters into the kitchen as I start prepping a charcuterie board for tonight.

Is it unnecessary?

Absolutely.

Am I going to do it anyway?

Of course.

She grabs a carrot from the cutting board and bites into it, watching me with that knowing expression that makes me nervous.

“So,” she starts casually, too casually. “Are you staying?”

I blink at her. “Staying?”

“In town,” she clarifies, waving a hand. “You know, since there’s a whole serial killer situation happening? Are you sticking it out, or are you considering heading back home? Or…” She gives me a slow, wicked grin. “Do you want me to recommend a new town entirely? I’ve been to some fantastic places. You could start fresh.”

The question lingers in the air between us, heavier than I expected. I keep chopping vegetables, my grip tightening on the knife as I mull it over.

Leaving had crossed my mind, hadn’t it? I mean, who in their right mind stays in a town with a murderer running loose? It’s the logical thing to do, the safe thing to do. Pack up, move on, find somewhere else where death isn’t lurking around every corner. It’s what I would’ve done before.

But now? Now it’s different. I have Valkyrie and a house I’ve made my own.

I swallow, pushing that thought down. “I don’t know,” I say finally. “It’s… complicated.”

Celeste hums, unimpressed. “Complicated how? Because of a certain sexy baker?”

I shoot her a look. “Because this is home.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “Home is wherever you make it. You don’t have to stay here.”

“I know,” I admit. “But things are different now.”

She leans against the counter, watching me closely. “Well, if you do decide to go, I can hook you up with some of the best spots. A hidden gem of a town in the mountains? A beachside retreat? Hell, I know a place with the best damn coffee and the weirdest bookshop owner you’d ever meet.”

I chuckle despite myself. “That does sound tempting.”

“But…” She presses.

I sigh, wiping my hands on a towel and finally meeting her gaze. “But I don’t want to run anymore.”

There is a shift in her expression, her teasing demeanor softening just a little. “Good,” she says after a beat. “Because I think you belong here.”

At some point, we move on to prepping dinner, Umbra’s new music is playing in the background as she hums along. She practices while we cook, and I lose myself in the rhythm of chopping, stirring, and tasting. The day wears on, and the meal starts to come together. So does my resolve.

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