Page 44 of Big Dill

Pretty little thing.

Her hand slides around my back, gripping my sweater like it’s a lifeline. I tuck my fingers beneath the edge of her toque, her mouth softening against mine, lips silky and warm. I angle my head, step into her, our bodies fitting together like they’ve always known how.

I break the kiss, breathing hard, my forehead resting against hers.

“That was⁠—”

“Brutal.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

But we both know why it was brutal.

Neither of us wanted it to end.

“Brody.”

I pull back an inch. “Yeah.”

“Your family… after everything they’ve been through, they still believe in relationships?”

“Believe it or not,” I say. “They’re true romantics at heart.”

“I’m not,” she admits. “Not anymore. I’m not ready⁠—”

“I know. Neither am I,” I say so she doesn’t feel so alone in any of this, and also because it’s true.

“But I can humor them,” she adds. “As long as I don’t have to follow through with anything.”

My hand settles on her arm—protective, possessive, and not even a little brotherly. “You won’t have to,” I promise. “I won’t let that happen.”

Her shoulders lift and she cups her hands beneath her chin. “My hero.”

“Smart ass.”

“Better than annoying and hey thanks for the kiss,” she says lightly, like it didn’t rattle us both. “It reminded me of when I was a teen and used to practice with my pillow.”

“You practiced with your pillow?”

“Yeah,” she says solemnly. “And honestly, it had better technique.”

I burst out laughing as I tug on my coat and nudge her toward the door. The cold air hits like a slap, and I step ahead, letting my coat act as a human windbreaker. Her hand lands on mine. “Close your eyes,” I say. “I’ll guide you to the truck.”

The way she holds on—so small, trusting me—it twists something in my chest. I move slowly, careful, letting the wind swirl around us before opening the door. I turn her gently and help her in. Once she’s seated beside her brother, I hop in and slam the door.

“So this is spring,” she says, eyes watering from the wind. I open my mouth to say something witty—maybe a “welcome to Churchill Falls” joke—but she holds up a hand.

“Don’t say I’ll get used to it.”

“How did your face get so red so fast?” Jaxon asks, and I suddenly become obsessed with my seatbelt buckle, pretending it’s a Rubik’s Cube I’ve never seen before.

“I’m not used to this place like you are,” she shoots back and I love how quick on her feet she is. She scoffs. “My skin isn’t leather like yours.”

Jaxon rubs his face. “Leather, huh? Give it time.”

“I don’t plan to be here that long.”

He backs out of the driveway and down the road, signal blinking for the world to admire his impeccable courtesy, even though there isn’t a soul in sight. He turns down the next street, pulling into a driveway identical to my place.