Page 16 of Outspoken Hearts
"Well," I manage, "that's a nice change from being told to tone it down."
James smiles, though shadows linger in his eyes. "I understand something about wearing masks, about being told your natural self is wrong."
"Do you?" I ask softly.
He stands suddenly. "Let's take a break. Want to see the backyard?"
The shift surprises me, but I follow. "Sure."
James's backyard is as thoughtful as his home: stone patio with seating, fire pit, and a garden with vegetable beds and flowering shrubs. Late sun casts a golden glow.
"Did you do this too?" I ask.
"Mostly. Gardening helps me think. Nice creating something tangible that grows."
We sit on a bench under a maple, not quite touching. I wrap my arms around myself in the chilly air.
"You're cold," James observes. "We can go back inside."
"No, I'm fine. It's beautiful out here."
He hesitates, then slides closer, his arm coming around my shoulders. "Better?"
My heart hammers against my ribs. "Yes."
For a moment, we sit in silence, watching the breeze stir the leaves above us. It's comfortable but charged with potential energy, like the air before a thunderstorm.
"You know," James says finally, "I've spent most of my life trying to be what everyone needed me to be. The responsible son. The surrogate parent. The community leader. The motivational speaker with all the answers."
I turn slightly to look at him, surprised by this sudden vulnerability. "That sounds exhausting."
"It is." He meets my eyes. "But it's also safer, in a way. If you're always what other people need, you never have to figure out what you actually want."
"And what do you want, James?" The question comes out barely above a whisper.
He holds my gaze, something raw and honest in his expression. "These past few weeks, working with you... it's the first time in years I've felt like myself. Not the polished, perfect version people expect, but just... me. The real me."
My breath catches. "I like the real you."
"Even when I don't have all the answers? Even when I'm not in control?"
"Especially then." I place my hand tentatively on his knee. "Perfect is boring. Real is... beautiful."
James looks down at my hand, then back to my face. His eyes drop briefly to my lips before meeting my gaze again. The question in them is clear.
My heart races as I give an almost imperceptible nod.
He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to. But I don't want to. I've been thinking about this moment since that night at O'Malley's—if I'm honest, since that first meeting when he looked at me with genuine interest instead of dismissal after I challenged him.
When his lips finally meet mine, it's gentle at first, a whisper of a kiss. My eyes flutter closed as I lean into him, my hand sliding up to his shoulder. He deepens the kiss, his arm tightening around me, drawing me closer.
It's not a perfect first kiss—there's the awkward angle of the bench, the slight bump of noses as we find our rhythm—but it's real. Beautifully, breathtakingly real.
When we finally break apart, I'm slightly breathless. James rests his forehead against mine, his eyes still closed.
"I've been wanting to do that since you called the town logo generic in our first meeting," he murmurs.
I laugh softly. "That's what did it for you? My brutal honesty about bad design?"
