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“Exactly. Turns out, she’d filled an old shoebox with what she considered emergency supplies.”

Dean chuckled. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“My keys were there. Along with the TV remote, a juice box, three Band-Aids, a stuffed unicorn, and half a peanut butter sandwich because, according to Pip, emergencies make people hungry.”

“Sounds like she packed all the essentials,” he joked, laughing so hard that the couple at the next table glanced over.

“She’d even written ‘emergency kit’ across the lid with a purple marker.”

Dean’s brows lifted. “Spelled correctly?”

Vivian snorted. “Not even close.”

“Sounds like we’re both surrounded by interesting people who ensure our daily lives are never dull.”

She liked the sound of that. “I guess we are.”

They fell silent again, but this time, Dean didn’t let it linger. He also didn’t turn his gaze away from her, studying her intently.

“Do you want to talk about Boston?” he asked quietly.

Vivian wasn’t sure how to answer that. Did she? Then, she found her response. “We could talk about it,” she said slowly. “Or we could go back to my place and not talk about it in my bedroom.”

Dean’s eyes darkened with the same hunger she’d seen in Boston. “Get the check, Viv, while I grab my food. Meet me in the parking lot.”

He was up in an instant, his haste making her feel all kinds of special…and horny. Of course, she wasn’t much better, because she’d been flagging down the waitress before he’d even risen from the table.

Within five minutes, they were standing in the parking lot next to her vehicle. “I texted you the address,” she said.

“I’ll follow you there.”

Vivian climbed into her car, waiting for something akin to regret or panic to set in. She sure as hell hadn’t intended to proposition Dean—again—when he sat down at her table, but the man was too sexy to resist.

So instead of second-guessing herself, she spent the entire drive home lying to herself, insisting this would be the last time. After this, she would cut the cord with Dean, and life would return to its same old normal, predictable, boring routine.

Yeah, right.

Dean was right behind her when she pulled into her driveway. He met her at her car, placing his hand on her lower back gently as they walked toward the front door.

“I have to pick up Pip at school in a couple of hours,” she said, as they climbed the steps to her front porch.

“Okay. We can blow off being adults until then.”

She huffed out a laugh, unlocking the door. The moment they crossed the threshold, Dean closed the door, then spun her around, pushing her against it. Yeah, they weren’t going to make it to her bedroom.

His hand rose slowly, as he gave her the opportunity to pull away, to change her mind. Like that was going to happen.

She leaned into the gentle brush of his fingertips against her jaw, her breath catching as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered against her cheek, rough from years of gripping a hockey stick, yet incredibly tender against her skin.

“Viv…” he murmured, her name barely more than a whisper.

She didn’t know if he was asking for permission or reminding himself that she was real. Either way, she closed the distance.

Their lips met so softly, it barely qualified as a kiss. It was the lightest press that somehow carried weeks of restraint. They separated slightly, their gazes locked. If either of them had felt even an inkling of hesitation, that kiss had washed it away.

When Dean kissed her again, there was nothing tentative about it. His mouth moved against hers, savoring instead of rushing, every slow sweep of his lips drawing her deeper until the rest of the world disappeared. His other hand settled on her waist, holding her close, cornering her against the door—though God knew this wasn’t a trap she wanted to escape.

Her fingers curled into the front of his hoodie, bunching the soft fabric as she rose on her toes, needing to be even closer. He tasted like soda, and she wondered if he’d eaten his lunch on the way over or if the sandwich was slowly going bad in his car.