Page 44 of At First Dance
The porch lights hum. Moths tap and wheel. For a heartbeat, we just stand there inside the overlap of the two pools of gold. Close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. Far enough that I can’t blame the night if I step closer.
“Tomorrow,” I say, because I need a safe word, “I’m checking fence lines at first light. Coffee’s on at six. If you want to walk the south pasture or head into town later, just knock.”
“I want,” she says quickly, then tempers it with a breath. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
She nods. Her fingers worry the edge of her sleeve. Mine hook into my back pockets to keep from doing anything dumb.
“I liked tonight,” she admits, eyes on the seam where gravel meets shell. “More than I expected to.”
“Me, too.”
That pulls her gaze up. The look we trade is a held match—bright, dangerous, gone if either of us exhales too hard. She shifts a half step, and the light paints her hair in pale honey, her eyes gone dark and thoughtful.
She looks up at me, wide-eyed and unsure, and it feels like we’re standing on the edge of something that’s been building since the moment she crashed her damn spaceship into a ditch.
I don’t mean to step closer. I don’t mean to tilt her chin with my fingers.
I definitely don’t mean to let my lips brush hers, but I do, and she doesn’t pull away. She leans in with just the barest pressure—warmth, promise, chaos. And I break it. Pull back like I’ve been burned.
Her eyes flutter open. Hurt flickers there, followed by confusion, then anger.
“I should go to bed,” she says quickly.
“Ivy—”
“Good night, Rowan,” she says, barely above a whisper.
“Night.”
She turns down the shell path. I stay where I am, listening to the soft crunch of her steps and the small click of her latch. Her porch light stays on. Mine does too. I don’t move until I see her shadow cross the cottage curtain—one sweep, then still.
Only then do I take the left fork, gravel grinding under my boots, the night full of the thing we almost said and didn’t.
I run a hand through my hair, fingers digging into my scalp, hoping the sting will knock some damn sense into me. Ivy Quinn is across the way, probably confused as hell. And I don’t blame her.
I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for in my head—dancing with her or not kissing her fully. Both, maybe. Because either option means I’m a coward.
I stare at the counter, at the empty spot where her cup sat earlier. The space feels bigger without her in it even though she’s technically still here. It shouldn’t matter. She’s only staying another night, maybe two, until she figures out her career situation. Until the press finds a new angle. Until she remembers that men like me aren’t part of her world and will never be.
I want to believe I have a grip on this, and I can keep things clean. Distant. She’s not a mistake I can forget. And I don’t even want to.
I turn off the kitchen light and stalk down the hall, the air heavy with everything I haven’t said, every pull I’ve tried to ignore. The stairs groan under my weight, and I barely resistglancing toward the guesthouse. I don’t deserve another look. Not after the way I left her hanging.
In my room, I peel off my shirt, toss it across the back of the chair, and drop into bed. My muscles ache from the long day, but sleep is nowhere in sight. Not with the ghost of her mouth still on mine.
I roll over, then roll again, growling under my breath like that’ll make a difference.
I’ve kissed women before—hell, I’ve dated. But nothing has ever felt like this. Like kissing someone you don’t just want. Youneed. Like everything in your body, soul, and bones recognizes theirs before you even figure out what the hell is happening.
That terrifies me.
I punch the pillow and stare at the ceiling. The fan whirs overhead. A crack in the drywall catches the moonlight.
And I keep thinking about the way she looked tonight—barefoot in the grass, firelight in her hair, and her voice strong and soft all at once. Like a prayer set to music.
And then… that look in her eyes right before I pulled away. As if I’ve confirmed every doubt she carries.
