Page 46 of Kellan & Emmett
His face broke open at that—something fierce and aching, like I’d just handed him every piece of me I’d tried to hide. His hand lifted then, no hesitation this time, palm cupping my jaw. Warm. Not trapping, or demanding—but anchoring.
“Emmy—” It slipped out of me without thought, like the boy I’d been was still alive under my skin.
His thumb brushed my cheekbone, and he leaned closer, whispering against my lips. “Still Kelly.”
And then he kissed me.
It was heat and salt and twenty years crashing together all at once. His mouth was firm, hungry, tasting of coffee and something sharper—want, need. His tongue slid against mine and I groaned into it, helpless. My fists found his shirt, clutching hard, dragging him in like I’d die if there was an inch of space between us.
He pressed me back against the door, his arousal hard against my thigh. I shuddered at it, hips twitching before I could think better. Every nerve in me screamed wrong, dangerous, don’t, but my body knew better. My body had been waiting for this.
I kissed him harder, messy, and desperate. Relief poured through me so sharp it almost hurt.
When we finally tore apart, breath ragged, our foreheads rested together. I shut my eyes and let myself have it—just this. His breath, his heat, his hands still braced on me.
I didn’t run. That was the victory.
He kissed me again, quick but certain. Then he eased back. “Go shower, Kelly. Take a nap. You’ve had a long morning.” He glanced at his watch, the practical innkeeper back in place. “Couple of guests’ll be back soon. When things settle, I’ll come by your room. We’ll talk more then.”
My pulse was still hammering when he stepped away, giving me space. I stayed with my back to the door, chest heaving, the taste of him still on my lips.
Twenty years I’d called it a mistake. But nothing about his mouth on mine felt like one.
Chapter 25
Emmett
The afternoon settled over the inn like a heavy quilt. The Bobcombes came back first, shopping bags dangling from their wrists, sun hats tilted from the June heat. I met them in the foyer with a smile, relieved them of their packages, and steered them toward the nook where the light fell soft through the lace curtains.
“I put out lemonade and pound cake,” I told them, already reaching for the pitcher. “The perfect cure for antique hunting.”
Mrs. Bobcombe laughed, patting her husband’s arm. He was less convinced, muttering about the price of old clocks, but he accepted the glass I slid his way. Their conversation drifted easy—traffic on the bypass, how hot it was compared to Charleston, whether they’d stop at the farmer’s market tomorrow. I nodded, listened, let myself be the polite buffer they expected.
But under the smile, my mind ran a different track. Every minute I was standing here pouring lemonade, Kellan was upstairs, stretched out behind a closed door. I told him to rest. Promised I’d come by later. And now the promise sat in my chest, pressing, crowding out air.
The pitcher tipped too far, lemonade rushing quick. I caught it just shy of spilling over the rim, muttered a joke about needing steadier hands. Mr. Bobcombe chuckled politely, and that was that. But inside I was rattled.
By late afternoon the inn had quieted again. The Bobcombes retreated upstairs with a guidebook, the honeymooners were still shut away in their room. The house seemed to hold its breath.
I wiped my hands on a dish towel, hung it over the oven rail, and finally made myself climb the stairs. My palm slipped once on the banister, sweat slicking the wood.
Kellan’s door stood at the end of the hall, closed, no sound behind it. I stopped there, pressed my hand flat to the frame just long enough to steady myself. Then I knocked—once, twice—quiet, like if I startled him I’d lose whatever fragile thread we’d built.[7]
The latch clicked, and the door eased open.
Kellan stood there barefoot, hair still damp from a shower, curling slightly at his temples. He wore a faded T-shirt and gray sweats that hung loose on his hips, the picture of ease—except for the way his fingers flexed once at his side, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. A nervous smile tugged his mouth, small, unguarded, and it pulled something deep in me tight.
This was just Kellan, standing in a doorway, looking at me like he wanted me here and wasn’t sure he was allowed to say it.
He stepped back, giving me space to enter. [8]
The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the rest of the inn. Kellan hovered near the bed like he wasn’t sure whether to sit, so I sank down first, leaving space for him. After a beat, he lowered himself beside me. Not quite touching, but close enough that the mattress dipped toward the middle, tugging us together.
For a moment neither of us spoke. The quiet wasn’t empty—it thrummed, filled with everything still unsaid. My pulse tapped in my throat, too fast, too hopeful.
“You settle down okay?” I asked, my voice low. A safe question, a soft start.
“Yeah.” He rubbed his palms over his thighs, eyes fixed on the carpet. “The shower helped.” A pause, then softer: “So did knowing you’d come.”
