Page 96 of When Love Takes Root

I kept it gentle at first, not because I lacked want, but because want without care was just hunger in good clothes. Her lips were warm and softer than my good sense was prepared for. The first touch was a question. The second was an answer. She inhaled, a small, broken sound that moved through me like current finding copper, and her hand came to my forearm, fingers closing around me as though she needed proof I was real and restraint at the same time.

I held her face and let the kiss deepen by degrees, slow enough for trust to stay in the room. Her body leaned toward mine, not falling, not rushing, just answering. I felt the moment she stopped holding her breath. Felt her shoulders ease. Felt her fingers loosen, then tighten again when I pulled back just enough to breathe.

Her eyes opened slowly. The salon lights caught the tears still gathered there, but something in her expression had changed.

I rested my forehead against hers, my hand still at her cheek.

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded, but I waited.

“I’m okay,” she whispered.

“You sure?”

“No.”

The honesty made my chest ache.

Then she laughed softly, and I smiled against the space between us.

“That’s fair.”

She looked up at me, hand still on my arm. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t mess it up by being honest.”

“I might be scared again tomorrow.”

“Then we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I might cry.”

“I’ve seen tears before.”

“I might mention Jamal.”

“I expect you to.”

That got her.

Her eyes filled again, but this time, the tears didn’t look as heavy. They looked like rain after heat, something needed, something releasing.

I brushed my thumb gently along her cheek. “Celeste, I don’t need you to pretend you come without history. I need you to trust that I’m not intimidated by a love that existed before me. If anything, it tells me what your heart can do when it feels safe.”

She closed her eyes, and another tear slipped free.

I wiped that one away.

“Beautiful woman,” I whispered.

Her breath caught.

I almost called her Pretty Red.

Almost.

But that name belonged to a place we hadn’t reached out loud yet. So I held it back and kissed her forehead instead, letting my lips rest there long enough for my own heart to calm down and act saved.