Page 14 of Crossed Paths
I gasp, every part of me short-circuiting. Because I hear the truth in his voice. Feel it in the silence that follows.
“I’m confused,” I whisper, barely able to form the words. “I have so many questions, Hunter. And this… it’s all so fast. I need time to think.”
He nods, and his thumb brushes the edge of my jaw.
“I’ll give you that,” he says quietly.
Then he kisses me again. Slower. Deeper. A kiss that says he’s holding something back only because I asked him to.
“But Alex,” he murmurs against my lips, “I won’t give up. I can’t. Not unless you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me. And if that’s what you need to do, I’llwalk away. But even then, I’ll still hope. Because I don’t know how not to.”
And God help me—I want to believe every single word.
I should run. I should tell him to slow down. I should question everything.
But instead, I let him take my hand.
He walks me to the back entrance of the pub. Where this all started. He presses one last kiss to my lips, gentle and firm and full of everything he didn’t say.
Then he slips out into the rain without another word.
And I stand there, one hand on the banister, wondering if I’ve just been kissed by the one man I never saw coming—and the one I might not be able to let go.
Chapter 6
Alexandra
Ididn’t sleep.
Tossed, turned, kicked the duvet off, pulled it back on again, then repeated that cycle until the sun came up. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Heard him.
I’ve been yours for years.
By half past seven, I give up. I need caffeine and someone to talk me down from the emotional cliff I’m standing on.
Mandy’s always at the coffee shop early before surgery, so I shoot her a message.
Me
SOS. Need caffeine and a reality check. Are you at Roast & Co?
She replies in seconds.
Mandy
Already got the good corner table. Two cappuccinos. Bring whatever disaster this is.
When I arrive, she’s exactly where she said she’d be—tucked into the back booth, coat folded over the bench beside her, one eyebrow already raised and a cappuccino steaming in front of each seat.
“You look like hell,” she says cheerfully as I slide in across from her.
“I feel worse.”
“Good. That means you’ve done something interesting.”
She pushes a cup toward me. I take a long sip before leaning in, voice low.
“Hunter. Last night. We—” I gesture vaguely, “—on the pool table. In the bloody pub.”
