Page 37 of Grump Hard
“No, thank you.” His fingers skim up my spine, summoning a rush of warmth in their wake. “Actually, I… I have a confession to make.”
“Oh, yeah?” I cock my head. “What’s that?”
“I knew who you were. That first night,” he says softly. “About two seconds after I insisted that I didn’t, all the memories came rushing back.”
My brows pinch together, but before I can ask why he lied, he continues, “They were all happy memories. Innocent. Good. And I haven’t been happy or innocent or…” He sighs. “Hell, I haven’t even been that good. I love my siblings and did my best to care for them when our father forfeited his responsibilities, but I was also…angry. With my father, mostly, but also with my brothers and sister. Even as I moved heaven and earth to shelter them, a part of me resented them for it. I envied their relative innocence and disdained it at the same time. I loved their laughter and hated that I knew I would never laugh the same way. All those things mixed to make me…grumpy as fuck.”
Even as I acknowledge his joke with a soft laugh, my heart aches for him. “Oh, Luke. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize things had been that bad.”
He gives a small shake of his head. “Please, don’t pity me.”
“I don’t, I feel for you. With you.”
“But you don’t have to,” he says, meeting my gaze again, the softness in his voice taking my breath away. “I thought I was broken, but I’m not sure that’s true anymore. And that’s all your doing.”
My lips part, awe swelling inside me. I launched this blackmail plan with this very outcome at least partially in mind, but I never imagined it would go this well.
But maybe I should have. From the moment I laid eyes on this man when we were both still just children, my soul insisted that I’d found a forever friend. An ally. A kindred spirit.
And maybe…
I’m about to do it—to kiss him the way I’ve been dying to kiss him—when he beats me to the punch.
His lips cover mine, warm and right, sending a wave of happiness pulsing through my veins more intense than any whiskey rush. I moan my approval of this very wise decision he’s made and twine my arms tighter around his neck.
He tastes like whiskey and oranges and coming in from the cold after hours on the slopes. His kiss is exciting and comforting, new and familiar, and easily the best present I’ve received in years. The tease of his tongue promises a steamier kiss as soon as we’re alone, and his big hands cradle me like a treasure he doesn’t intend to let slip through his fingers.
And I am…sparkling.
Fizzing.
Glittering and as giddy as Christmas morning.
Finally, he pulls back, gazing down at me, the echo of everything I’m feeling written plainly on his handsome face.
But we don’t talk or head back to our table.
We just keep swaying.
Slow and easy.
Because we’re in no rush and have nowhere to be but here, with each other, making up for lost time.
Around us, the pub keeps being the pub—glasses clink, chairs scrape, someone on the far side of the room yells “Play the hippo song again, Pete!”—but I’m too lost in the way Luke’s looking at me to pay much attention.
Hours later—after more dancing, hot tea with the rest of our cobbler, even more dancing, and settling up with Kevin, who seems genuinely happy to see us holding hands as we approach the bar—we head out into the winter night.
The chill is a welcome kiss on my cheeks after the heat in the pub, and the sky is endless black velvet and diamonds, as far as the eye can see.
It’s beautiful, nearly as beautiful as the way our breath clouds mix in the air as Luke walks me back to my apartment in the old Victorian not far from the country store.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow for the concert at six?” he asks on my front stoop, whispering out of respect for the other tenants, who are likely already asleep this close to midnight. “We can grab dinner first?”
I nod. “Sounds perfect.”
“Good.” And then he kisses me again, deep and sweet, until my head is spinning and every nerve ending is tingling.
It’s a kiss for the ages, a kiss unlike any I’ve experienced before.
