Page 24 of Rumours and Romance
Right now, I just want to kiss her.
I slant my mouth to cover more of hers. Her tongue slicks across my lips and I open, letting us tangle together. Soft moans come from somewhere, and I realize it’s her. The sound makes my cock stir in my shorts, and I know she feels it because she presses her hips against me. Fuck. It’s too much, too soon. I have to pump the brakes on this before it goes too far.
I pull back. Both of us are breathing heavily. Mila’s hands drop to my shoulders, and my hands are still holding her waist.
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.” My words come out rough.
She lets her hands slide down my body until they drop to her sides and I instantly miss the contact.
“I should go,” she says quietly, stepping back, and forcing my hands to leave her hips.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” She smiles up at me, then walks around to the other side of the counter to gather her things. “Thanks for dinner, and” — she waves her hand around, biting her lip — “this.”
I look at her closely, trying to see if there is any sign of remorse for kissing me. Thankfully there’s none, so I take her leaving for what I assume it is. A step back, re-establishing boundaries. Good thing she can’t read my mind right now, because all I want to do is smash those boundaries to rubble.
Instead, I walk her to the door.
“I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow.”
Her eyes twinkle at me. “Yeah. I’ll save you a bran muffin.”
As I watch Mila drive away, I realize something. She’s changing more than just my breakfast habits. She’s changing me. I don’t feel like the angry, jaded man I was when I first came here. I feel happy, content, and hopeful. Three things I haven’t felt for a very long time.
Canada Day is hot and sunny. When I pick Mila up, I’m glad for my sunglasses because I know my eyes widen in appreciation of the tight red shorts she’s wearing with a white and red tank top. Her long hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, and she’s got sandals on her feet, showing off bright red toenails.
“Someone’s taking their national pride seriously,” I tease as I walk up to her. She walks down the path, putting an extra sway into her hips as if she’s on the runway.
“If I’m going to celebrate Canada’s birthday, I’m doing it right. Where’s your red?” she asks, putting her hand on my arm to turn me around, as if I might have some hidden colour on my back.
“Sorry to disappoint, no red.” I look down at my light grey T-shirt and black shorts with a shrug of my shoulders.
“Well, we need to fix that. We’ll find something at one of the booths, I’m sure.”
I raise my eyebrows. “No tacky tourist shit, please.”
Mila rolls her eyes at me. “Fine. Nothing too tacky.”
The celebration takes up all of the town square and surrounding streets, which have been shut down for the day. I take Mila’s hand as we walk down the street, the sounds of people laughing and music playing growing louder as we approach.
“Wouldn’t it be good business if you were open today?” I ask as I notice several of the businesses that line the square open and bustling with customers.
“Yeah, but I’ve been coming to the Dogwood Cove Canada Day party since I was born. Maybe in the future I’ll have a manager that can run the bakery, but for now I’m the one in charge and I don’t want to work today.”
“Makes sense to me,” I reply. That’s the last chance we get to talk, just the two of us, because as soon as we reach the crowd, we’re swept up by people greeting us. I know I have to get used to how involved these people are in everyone’s lives; that’s the reality of a small town. Doctor Morton tried to warn me about that. But I can’t get over how many people come up to us, commenting on how good we apparently look together, and how happy Mila looks. I feel her grip on my hand grow tighter, and her smile grow less genuine, and I realize she’s uncomfortable. Thinking quickly, I excuse us from whoever is talking; honestly, I’ve lost track of who everyone is at this point, and we walk quickly over to the front of the bakery.
“Do you have the key with you?”
“Of course I do,” she says, looking at me, confused. “But why?”
“Just open the door. It’ll look like we’re sneaking away for a minute, which we are, but not for whatever reason they assume we are.”
She opens the door, and we step into the cool, dimly lit bakery. I pull her straight through to the kitchen, away from any prying eyes out front.
“Now. Breathe.”
