Page 18 of Midnight Lessons
I laugh along, remembering how serious we were, hauling wood and hammering nails like construction pros. “You almost took your hand off trying to saw that board.”
Owen grins, rubbing his palm as if feeling the phantom injury. “Yeah, but you were the one who fell out of the tree when Melvyn caught us. You screamed so loud, I thought for sure you'd broken something.”
I groan, covering my face. “My ass was sore for weeks. I swear, I thought I’d be grounded for life after that. And the treehouse was more like a pile of broken boards nailed together.”
Owen’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “But Melvyn didn’t even yell at us. He just looked at the mess we made and said, ‘I’ll give you five bucks if you take that thing down.’”
I burst out laughing, remembering the way we looked at each other, too embarrassed to admitwe’d already given up. “And we actually took the five bucks.”
Owen nods, his smile softening. “Yeah, I guess even back then, we were a team. We were always getting into something, weren’t we?”
The warmth of the memory spreads through me, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed. Just us, the way we used to be. But this time, the air between us hums with something deeper, something more.
Hope, fragile and tentative, blooms in my chest. Maybe this time, we’ll get it right.
Will you? Or will he leave again?
My smile dies at the thought. The clock ticks a steady rhythm, filling the silence as Owen and I hover on the edge of something undefined. I see the pulse at his throat beat in time with mine, and it’s like the air between us is charged with electricity. The wine glass in my hand suddenly feels too fragile, so I set it down with an unsteady clink on the coffee table.
Owen’s eyes lock onto mine in that way that makes my stomach flip. He’s alwaysbeen good at reading me, and tonight is no different. He knows something’s on my mind.
"What’s going on, Low?" he asks softly, setting his glass beside mine.
I hesitate before meeting his gaze. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Are we... Are we trying again? Or are we just... kidding ourselves?”
His brow furrows, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What do you mean?”
“I mean... this.” I gesture between us. “It’s been three weeks, and you’ve been perfect—sweet, patient, everything. But you haven’t touched or kissed me since that day at the bakery. I-I don’t know where we stand. And I don’t want any miscommunications this time.”
He exhales slowly, and for a moment, he looks almost relieved, like he’s been waiting for this conversation as much as I have. “After everything that happened, I didn’t want to push you. I thought maybe you needed time.”
“I’ve had time,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “Six years of it.”
His eyes kindle as he reaches for my hand, twining our fingers together. “I’m here because I want you. I’ve always wanted you. Only you.”
His raw honesty makes my heart ache. I squeeze his hand, and the tension between us snaps as the last of my reservations melt away.
“Then stop holding back,” I whisper.
In an instant, Owen’s mouth crashes down on mine with a hunger that’s been building for weeks—no,years. The kiss is deep, desperate, all-consuming, and I respond in kind, fisting my hands in his shirt as I press closer.
He cups my face gently, thumbs stroking my cheeks as if memorizing the feel of my skin. My fingers find their way into his hair, tugging him closer, needing him as much as I need the air in my lungs.
He groans against my mouth, his hands slipping down to my waist, pulling me even tighter against his body. It’s like all the restraint he’s shown over the past few weeks has evaporated, leaving nothing but raw need in its place.
“Low,” he breathes, pulling back slightly to look at me. “I’ve missed this. Fuck, I’ve missedyou.”
“I’m right here,” I whisper, tugging him back down, my lips finding his again.
The kiss deepens, filled with longing and desire, and I’m lost in the rush of emotions that flood me. This isn’t just a spark; it’s a blaze that reignites everything I thought I’d tucked safely away. All the pain and the hurt melt under the heat of his lips on mine.
We break apart, gasping slightly, our foreheads still touching. I open my eyes to find his on me, those blue depths reflecting an intensity that steals my already-labored breath.
“Willow,” Owen says with a certainty that steadies my racing heart. “I meant what I said before. I want to make this work, whatever it takes.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. The bet, the town, the past, they’re all there, lingering in the shadows, but for now, they don’t matter. What matters is the man in front of me, the promise in his eyes, and our shared heartbeat that seems to echo around the room.
“Me too,” I manage.