Page 44 of Love By the Book
I trail my finger down the spine and think about the mythological Rhiannon on her white horse, how many suitors tried to catch her but she couldn’t be caught. It was the man who called out to her she stopped for. That she fell in love with.
I’ve spent so long guarding myself. But here, in this moment, with the blue moon’s magic still tingling on my skin and Eli’s eyes on me, I understand why Rhiannon chose to stop. And that terrifies me more than any adventure ever could.
My hand lands with a soft thunk against the dresser. When I turn to Eli, his eyes are soft, watching me explore his space.
"It's not much," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Still getting settled."
But that's not quite right. The apartment might just be a place, but Eli—Eli feels like coming home. I step closer to him and slide my hands up his chest and feel his heartbeat pick up pace. "It's perfect."
His breath catches, and then his lips are on mine, and I stop thinking about anything else at all.
Eli’s kiss is gentle at first. It reminds me of his uncertainty, his one-word answers, and how he ducks his head when he blushes. Then it changes, gaining a heat that makes my pulse race. His hands slide up my arms, every point of contact electric, like the air hums with magic we’ve stirred between us.
When his fingers tangle in my hair and he lets his other hand drift to the small of my back and pull me closer, I stop thinking. Instead, I lose myself to the pressure of his fingertips on my spine, the soft embrace of his lips, the warmth of his body where it touches mine.
The world narrows to this—to soft sighs, to hands that move like they want to memorize the feel of me, to breath that mingles with mine in the apartment’s quiet. Outside, the festival continues, a dim hum of music and magic and laughter.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips. “Are you sure?”
I track my thumb along his jaw, over the six o’clock shadow and the sharp lines. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
This is what every romance novel in the world tries to convey. This feeling like your heart is too big for your chest, like every love song suddenly makes sense, like you’ve found some piece of yourself you didn’t know was missing.
And suddenly, nothing about this feels like a mistake or a detour or something I need to guard myself against.
It just feels right. Like every step I’ve taken, every book I’ve read, every song I’ve listened to, has been leading me here. To this moment. To him.
Eli kisses me again, slow and soft this time. It’s so tender it makes my chest ache in the best way. He grabs my hand like hedid on the night of the meteor shower, and leads me across the studio apartment toward the bed.
He pauses as we reach it and looks down. I grab his jaw with both of my hands and lift his face until his gaze meets mine. “Hey, Lancaster, now you’re the quiet one.”
Eli’s lips curve into a small smile. “Guess I’m feeling the moment,” he whispers, echoing my words from earlier, but there’s a hint of vulnerability there, something uncertain.
I brush my thumb across his lips then loop my hands behind his neck and draw his face closer to mine again. “Good. Someone told me that’s what it means to really live.” I smile and he returns it. “You make me feel alive too, Eli.”
His smile fades, replaced by something deeper, and when he kisses me this time, it’s different from any we’ve shared before—slower, more deliberate. It’s like he’s savoring the moment, every touch and taste. And I do the same. My fingers tangle in his hair, my other hand gliding under his shirt and skimming along the warmth of his flesh.
We sink onto the bed together. His weight feels grounding, solid, like an anchor that holds me steady. Moonlight spills past the slanted blinds, painting everything in a silver-blue casting shadows that flicker like whispers. Our heartbeats thunder together in rhythm, like they’ve created the beat of a song together.
His hands move slowly as he finds my dress’ hem. “Still sure?” he murmurs against my ear.
“More than ever.”
The words feel like both truth and lie—I am sure about this, about him, about us. What I’m not sure about is what comes after. Not tomorrow, not next week, not the moment when this stops being a summer fling and asks to become something more.
But when his mouth meets mine once more, when his hands find bare skin and his body moves inperfect rhythm with mine, I let myself forget all of that. Just for tonight, I push away thoughts of the fellowship and choices and all the ways this could break me.
All that exists is the heat between us, the way his touch feels like being seen and not turned away, and the terrifying, beautiful sense that maybe, for once, I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
Eli
“Brubba, you’re actually giggling.” Piper’s voice carries that mix of amusement and disbelief that only little sisters can perfect. “I didn’t even know you could make that sound.”
“I am not giggling.” I adjust my phone, trying to sound dignified while I sort through the stack of research notes I should have worked on last night. Instead, Rhianna had asked me if I wanted to go for a moonlit swim in the ocean and I spent the evening memorizing the way starlight glistened in her hair and the warmth of her body against mine. “I’m… expressing measured enthusiasm.”
“Right. And I’m the Queen of England.” She snorts. Something clinks and I imagine her dropping her coffee mug to the table. “Come on, tell me everything. Have you kissed her yet? Has she stayed over? Oh my gosh, if so did you make her breakfast? Please tell me you made breakfast—you know that fancy French toast thing you do.”
Heat creeps up my neck and I refuse to glance at the kitchen where the pan I use for French toast still rests on the counter, washed but not put away. Because I got distracted by more pleasurable things. “That’s none of your business.”
