Page 65 of Came the Closest
“Can we swim again after supper?” Milo asks Indi, saving me from answering. “I need ta practice more…”
His words fade the farther they drift from the kitchen. I start inching in that direction myself, and I poke my thumb over my shoulder. “I should, uh, go help her. I washed a lot of Milo’s clothes today and they’re not put away yet, so…”
It’s a weak excuse; Indi knows where to find his clean clothes. But I spin on my heel anyway. I barely make it two steps before Colton’s hand closes around my wrist. He tugs me backward, and my shoulder bumps his bare chest. A soft gasp tumbles from my parted lips when he wraps both arms around my abdomen. He turns me to face him, my chest pressed snugly to his and his face tantalizingly close to mine.
His skin is hot from the sun and cool from the water when I place my palms on his chest. It’s an electrifying combination, a heady one. I inhale, filling my lungs with lake water and earthy air and, faintly, rich coffee.
“For the record,” he says, his voice rumbling, his fingertips on my jaw, “you have no idea how crazy you drive me in that blue swimsuit. You can try to avoid me, Fini, but I know I affected you, too. Is that true?”
Yes.
My pulse thrums heavily, and my mouth dries. Just as quickly as his arms were around me, they’re gone. Goosebumps pebble my sun-drenched skin when he lets his fingers dance down my arm. Concentrated intensity hovers in his deep irises and in the lines bracketing his mouth. I grab his face, whiskers prickling my palms, and then I jump into the deep end.
I lift onto my bare tiptoes, and I close my eyes, and I kiss him.
It’s not rational, not in the least, but his body reacts instantaneously. His hands find my waist with practiced ease, bordering on possessiveness. He exhales against my lips and walks us backward until my hips bump into the quartz countertop. Exhilaration zips through my nervous system. I let one of my hands tunnel through his thick, dark hair to press him closer, and he groans deep in the back of his throat.
“Annie, guess what?! Inni said I could go swimming tonight if I eat all my broccoli!”
Colton jerks away from me. His lips are swollen, his breathing uneven, his chest heaving. My heart pounds mercilessly against my ribcage. I press my fingertips to my trembling mouth.
But when Colton meets my eyes one tumescent heartbeat later, my heart drops all the way to my toes.
I can read Colton Del Ray like a book I’ve read once, re-read four times, and annotated deeply.
The flicker of fear in his eyes and the way he rubs his jaw with quivering fingers reads only one thing.
Regret.
Chapter Twenty
A conversation partner
Colton
Cheyenne and I need to talk. I know it, she knows it, heck, the whole town probably knows it. And yet, we’ve been dancing around it for the past nineteen hours.
It being the Kiss in the Kitchen.
The one that caught me by complete surprise. The one where Cheyenne grabbed my face and kissed me, but I deepened it. The one where muscle memory came flooding back in; where my hands fit perfectly, what sounds she makes when I parted her lips, how fully she understands me. The one that should not have happened.
Not that way.
Let me be abundantly clear: I don’t regret kissing Cheyenne. I regret letting it happen like that. If I’m going to kiss my fiancée, fake or otherwise, it will absolutely not be a few stolen moments alone in the kitchen. Nor will it be when there is so much uncertainty hovering between us.
Problem is, I don’t know how to tell her that. Which is why I’m here, in my office on Tuesday morning with no more clarity than last night. If Indi suspected anything, she mercifully kept quiet. Milo was too thrilled about swimming to be fazed by our distractedness.
Graham’s office beside mine is dark. He took the morning off to help Ember with inventory at the book shoppe, so it’s just me in this corner of the building. In his absence, I’ve been reviewing information he gave me. Next Monday is our first meeting with the Falls Lake Yacht Club, a meeting Graham plans to sit in on, and I want to give it my best shot.
Right now, however, my concentration is nil. I’ve stared at too many words for too long without a break. It makes me wonder how people read an entire novel in one sitting.
I put my monitor to sleep and push my desk chair in. It’s hot, so I leave my suit jacket draped over my chair, slip my phone into my pocket, and head down the hallway. One upside of Del Ray’s location is walkable proximity to restaurants. I’ve never had a lunch break, technically, so I’ve never looked forward to scoping out where to eat or seeing what coloring page Milo stuffed in the lunch Cheyenne packs me.
Caroline is officially on maternity leave—she delivered a healthy baby early, early this morning—so the receptionist desk is unusually quiet. I’ve worked here for less than twenty-four hours, and I already have a handle on the office dynamics.
Dad and Graham are firm and no-nonsense, but they’re not unapproachable. Susan, the tall blonde woman, is the CFO; she has an incredible mind for numbers and an affinity for tall heels. Bernard in marketing matches his suspenders to days of the week, Keira in HR color blocks our schedules, and Brent in communications is the only person in this office who knows how to properly work Cruella Breville.
I did order myself a custom door plate. It should arrive next Monday. I plan to wrap it and set it on my brother’s desk. Might even find some pregnancy announcement gift wrap just to make sure his heart still functions.