Page 71 of Fractured Ice

He doesn't say anything. He just takes my hand and pulls me toward the back of the booth, through the canvas flap at the rear, and then we're behind it, out of the sun, in the narrow space between the booth and the hedge row. The fair noise is still all around us but it's muffled, and nobody can see us, and he turns to face me.

We look at each other.

The laughing goes quiet. The space between us isn't a table anymore, it's nothing, just a few inches of March air. His hand is still holding mine, his hair is still messed up from climbing over the furniture, and his eyes are very focused and very brown. I've been trying for months to talk myself out of this exact moment.

I stop trying.

He kisses me and I kiss him back. This is nothing like the booth. This is the real version, what's been building since the first dollar. It goes deep and slow, his hands moving to my hips, pulling me in, and I go. I can feel his cock hard against me and it sends a shock of heat straight through my core, and I press closer instead of pulling back. He makes a low sound against my mouth and his hands grip tighter as I move up on my toes, my fingers are the front of his shirt.

His mouth is incredible. Every kiss pulls me under a little further, and his hands move and one goes to the small of my back, pressing me into him. The other slides up into my hair, and I'm so turned on it's almost disorienting. My nipples ache against my bra. My thighs are slick. I'm making out with Ethan Walker behind a kissing booth at a charity fair, my body has decided this is the best idea it's encountered in years, and I cannot make myself care.

He groans when I shift against him and the sound goes straight through me.

"Sienna," he says against my mouth.

"Don't talk," I say, and pull him back down.

He listens. His hand tightens in my hair and he tilts my head back slightly. The angle is perfect and I've never wanted to suggest somewhere quieter to go more in my life, and I'm about to, I'm genuinely about to say the words⁠—

The canvas flap moves.

Emma pushes through the back of the booth.

She stops.

We stop.

The three of us look at each other.

Emma's mouth opens. Closes. Opens. "I was going to—" She gestures vaguely at the general concept of the kissing booth. "My shift starts—I was early. I was going to relieve you early." She looks at Ethan. Looks at me. Looks at the hedge. "I can come back."

"No," I say, immediately. Too immediately.

"I was early," she says again, as if this explains everything.

"It's fine." I step back from Ethan, who has gone very still and is looking at the canvas flap with an expression of profound regret. "Take the booth. I'll show you the system."

"The system," Emma repeats.

"For the money." I push back through the flap into the booth, smoothing my hair, and Emma follows with the careful energy of someone trying very hard not to make eye contact with anyone. The dollar bills are still scattered across the floor from Ethan's crossing. I start collecting them off the grass. "He paid out for the full remaining time, so the booth is technically closed, but⁠—"

"How much is this?" Emma has picked up a handful of bills and is looking at them with pure disbelief.

"A lot."

"Sienna."

"It all goes to the fund." I take the bills from her. "The charity gets every dollar."

Emma looks at the pile I'm reassembling on the table. She looks at me. She looks at the back flap. She pulls her lips together very tightly in the expression she makes when she's refusing to say the thing she wants to say, which I appreciate more than I can currently express.

"I've got it from here," she says.

"Thank you." I pick up my water bottle. I don't look back at the flap. "I'll see you at home."

I'm two steps toward the exit when the flap moves again and Ethan comes through. I keep walking. Behind me I hear him stop.

And then I hear Emma say, flatly, "Can I help you?"