Page 35 of The Quirky Vet

He hesitates for a moment. "Uh, sure. If that's what you want."

"I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't."

He nods, but I can see the cogs in his brain spinning. "Or we can sit here in silence while you process."

"No," he blurts out emphatically. "Kiss now. Silence and processing later."

"Sounds good."

The moment our lips meet again, I get the same feeling I get after a day of doing farm calls out of town. It hits me as I drive past the fadedWelcome to Scuttlebuttsign with the population count of4,272beneath it in bold numbers.

I always let out a breath because I feel like I'm arriving back home.

And even though it's only my second time kissing Muir, that same feeling is radiating throughout my entire body right now.

Kissing my best mate feels like coming home. But with way more tongue and way more passion.

This time, Muir's the one taking the lead, and I let him because one: I'm not sure what the correct man-kissing etiquette is, but I suppose it's only fair to take turns in who gets to 'lead,' and two: because it feels fucking incredible.

His kiss is firm, deep, and commanding, sending a jolt through me as he takes control, guiding the moment. No woman has ever kissed me like this, with an intoxicating mix of confidence and strength and fire.

I can feel Muir's urgency, the passion behind every flick of his tongue in my mouth, and I surrender to the heat, letting him lead us deeper and deeper into a frenzy that takes me over until I can't even breathe.

I'm literally breathless when we finally break apart. "Whoa."

"Yeah. Whoa."

I glance down at his lips. They're red, and so is the skin around them. Oh, shit. My beard. It's given him a burn. I reach down and gently run my fingertips along his lips. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. It's fine." He gets even more flushed in the face and drops his gaze. "Kinda like it, actually."

"Okay. Cool," I say, but I make a mental note to shave my beard off. I don't want him walking around with a beard burn, because if I have my way, there'll be plenty more kissing in our future.

If that's something he decides he wants after taking all the time in the world that he needs to work through this most recent development in our friendship.

The kiss may not have given Muir a straight-up answer about his feelings, but it's definitely clarified something for me. I'venever stopped kissing anyone and immediately wanted to kiss them again.

So, yeah. My feelings are clear—I like kissing my best mate, and there's a high probability that's a sign I have deeper feelings for him than I ever knew.

Now I just have to play the waiting game until he figures out where he's at.

The next day, the waiting game is on in full force.

We're driving back to Scuttlebutt. Well, Muir's driving my ute since I'm nursing a bit of a hangover. Nowhere near as bad as the one after our bender on the Goldie, but I definitely wasn't up for a three-hour drive back into town.

After brekky, we helped clean up, hung out with the gang some more, then took off.

Things between us are fine enough that we didn't arouse any suspicion from our friends who now know we're married but don't know that there may be something more happening beneath the surface, but there is an unmissable hint of uncertainty lingering in the air.

That's why I stupidly gave Muir song-choice privileges for the entire drive home. To fill the air with music and bypass a conversation we both know he's not ready for yet.

But I regret that decision now.

I've been paying for it ever since his eyes lit up and he decided this trip would be a perfect occasion to take me on a guided tour through Taylor Swift's back catalogue. Don't get me wrong, I like some of her songs, mainly the ones I've heard on the radio, but man, there's a lot of her music I just don't get.

"Can you hear howFolklorefeels different to her other albums?" he asks, turning the volume up.

"Sure," I reply, even though I haven't really been paying attention, but I'm happy to take his word for it.