Page 142 of Fake it ’Til Fall

Daisy goes still.

Then her gaze drops.

For once, she has no words.

I shouldn’t enjoy that as much as I do.

“Nothing?” I ask.

Her eyes snap back up. “I’m composing a respectful statement.”

“Take your time.”

“I need several business days and possibly a grant.”

A rough laugh slips out before I can stop it, and Daisy looks at me like the sound did something to her. Like she wants to save it somewhere.

Then she reaches for the hem of her sweater.

I cover her hands with mine. “Only if you want.”

Her expression softens in a way I feel under my ribs.

“I want.”

I let her pull it off.

Her hair falls around her face. Her skin is flushed. Her breath is uneven. She’s beautiful in a way that makes the word feel useless, so I don’t say it.

I kiss her instead.

Slow this time. Deep. My hands move over her back, learning her by inches, the curve of her waist, the warmth of her skin beneath my palms, the small tremor she tries to hide by kissing me harder. Daisy melts into me for half a second, then apparently decides surrender is offensive and bites my lower lip.

I groan.

She smiles against my mouth.

“There he is,” she whispers.

“Careful.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I am done being careful for today.”

I lift her.

She gasps, arms wrapping around my shoulders, legs around my waist. I carry her to the bed and pause, because this is Daisy’s bed. Daisy’s room. Daisy’s past gathered around us in books and old photos and vineyard ribbons. A place that knew her before I did. A place that might know better than I do how easily people leave marks.

She must see something cross my face, because she touches my cheek.

“Don’t disappear into your head.”

“I’m right here.”

“Good.” Her thumb moves along my jaw. “Stay.”