Page 99 of Fall Love

“Like you like how I kiss you. Like you like how I look at you, too.”

Her mouth softens. Her eyes, too. She relaxes against me.

“I love how you always get a scowl on your face when I ask if I can take you somewhere.” I run my fingertip over her forehead. “And how you hog the covers but then snuggle into me at night.”

She shakes her head. Her hair bobs against her cheeks.

“And how you love cheesy Halloween movies.”

“The cheesiest,” she mutters.

“The sweetest,” I smile. “You’re fun, Neve.” I tip a brow, waiting for her argument. “You’re different. You’re good for me.”

She grimaces. “Different normally means bad.”

“Not in this case,” I state, running my fingers around her face again and then cupping her jaw. “Different means perfect.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” she teases, the joke more of a defense.

So I kiss her to seal my thoughts, confirm my emotions.

I want her with a desire that burns. A flicker I don’t want to extinguish but to blaze like a permanent flame that warms this house with her laughter and smile, and heats our bed with our combined passion. Neve and I can be fire together.

“Think about it, Neve. Really consider it.”

“I will,” she says, like she did the day we discussed the old firehouse.

Then she kisses me.

CHAPTER 35

[Neve]

“Iwill,” I answer about Tate’s suggestion to move in with him.

I love the idea, but everything seems to be happening so fast. And right now, I’m just riding a high that Wren is sleeping and Tate set up this romantic evening for us.

I don’t consider myself terribly romantic at heart, and yet . . . maybe that’s because no one has ever done something as sweet as he’s done here. The hay bales. The pumpkins. The mood.

A private barn dance without the barn.

Instead of giving him a better answer, I kiss him.

While the kiss is a response to his, it moves from candle flicker to bonfire in a matter of minutes. I’ve missed kissing him. Missed him when I’ve never missed anyone before. Maybe that’s the issue. I don’t get close, so I don’t have to miss someone.

But the feeling inside me is more than missing Tate. Missing implies lack, but I love Tate because he’s present.

I love him.

The thought arrives fully formed, but I don’t accept it immediately. I almost reject it on instinct because that’s what I do. That’s what I’ve always done. Love isn’t something I’ve trusted. Love is something that changes shape as time passes, something that disappears.

Something that can leave you feeling like a hole exists in your heart.

But Tate doesn’t feel like leaving. He feels like staying. Like something steady I don’t know how to hold without shaking.

The idea of loving him is so foreign it almost makes me step back from myself, like I’ve said it about someone else. And yet, Tate feels so familiar, it scares me more than the unfamiliar ever did.

I don’t want to lose him.