One Funeral (No Weddings #2)(37)

A smirk twisted my lips. “What makes you think I came to see you?”

A soft chuckle. “Oh, ‘of all the gin joints in all the world’…is that how you’re playing it? Random coincidence of star-crossed lovers joining paths?”

I gave a small shake of my head across his chest. “No. Kiki suggested it for a reason. She asked about us.”

“And you told her…?”

“The truth. After Kiki swore not to breathe a word.”

“Which was…?”

“That there’s more than physical attraction between us, but we’re proceeding with caution. And she also confirmed that neither Kendall nor Kristen have mentioned anything to her about us.”

“Are you okay with all of that?” He looked down at me, concern etched in his expression.

I smiled and nodded. “For now. It actually feels good outing us in small increments.”

“I agree.” He brushed the hair from my face. “Gives us time to enjoy what’s happening without the spotlight on us.”

“And we’re not.” I pressed a gentle kiss to his chest through his T-shirt.

Cade pulled back, searching my eyes. His were a dark blue, his gaze penetrating. “We’re not, what?”

“We aren’t star-crossed lovers.”

My hold tightened around him. The amazing man who had gone from acquaintance to best friend to…so much more…was real and true and in my arms. Confident and determined, he’d seen my weaknesses and embraced them. He’d taken note of my obstacles and seized the opportunity to help me overcome them.

No, not Rick from Casablanca. We weren’t ill-fated like so many tragedies. We were not Romeo and Juliet.

I turned my face, leaning up, brushing my lips once across his.

He smiled against my lips, then increased the pressure into a tender kiss. “No we’re not.” He dropped his forehead to mine. “We’re caught in each other’s gravity.”





One Friday night spent mostly without Cade demanded a hit of the drug that only Cade in the flesh could provide, and the following week proved I’d become addicted. Our time alone together dwindled to scarce or nonexistent while he studied for his final exams. We kept our scheduled dinners with Ben and Mase, but the time afterward had become two people studying together yet separately, the conversation light and only on brief mental breaks.

Even his visits to Sweet Dreams had been abbreviated to only about thirty minutes or so before we opened, where he could concentrate alone without customer interruptions. Yet still he came, even though his time would be better spent studying alone in a library or his bedroom.

And so there he stood in my doorway at 7:22 a.m., looking dark and grumpy.

I laughed, unlocking the door. “’Morning, sourpuss. You know, I could give you a key.”

He gave me a deadpan look, handing me a caffè americano. “Don’t you think that’s moving a bit fast, Maestro? We’re not having the non-sex yet, but you want me to have proprietary access?”

Scrunching my face at him, I pushed him toward the couch. “Study hard, Future MBA Graduate. I’ll be in back, making the cupcakes.”

He dropped his things, put the coffee on the table, but then turned, growling as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer. “I don’t like all this time away from you. I’m going through withdrawal. Look, my hands are shaking.” He proceeded to slide them around my waist.

“No they’re not. They feel solid as a rock.”

His mouth descended to my ear, hot breath fanning over the shell. I shivered. His voice was a low purr. “That’s not the only thing solid as a rock. Man can’t think with no blood flow to his brain.”

I pressed further into him, enjoying his warmth, the safety of his arms. All the doubt and fear I’d once had kept slipping further away the longer we went on with this non-dating charade. He needed me, wanted me, as badly as I did him. Denying ourselves any longer would only ratchet up the building tension we each felt until at some point we came together—explosively.

I only hoped when we decided to let go, to crash into one another, we’d survive it.

“I know. It’s hard for me too. I’m in desperate need of us time.” I burrowed closer until his heart thumped hard against my cheek, until every breath I took smelled and tasted like him. “I need more of this. When you aren’t with me during the day, I need hits of oxygen to make it through.”

His shoulders shook and his chest rumbled as he leaned back to look down at me. “I’ll get you one of those tanks with wheels. At the end of all this, when I’m free from academia, will you be waiting for me?”

Our inside joke rang out into my head, about Cade thinking I’d look great in anything. I grinned and nodded. “With burlap on.”



The next Tuesday, I sat in Abigail’s office while she put her notepad to the side.

“Well, Hannah, you’ve made great progress. You’ve made new friends, and you’ve spoken to Cade about your feelings over his keeping your relationship from his friends and sisters.”

I felt the same way as I glanced down at the stack of tissues folded neatly in my lap. Turns out, I hadn’t shed any more tears in therapy. Abigail Trent didn’t operate as an interrogator or torturer. Instead, she coaxed out feelings I had buried deep inside—the ones that held me back from living my life—to the surface.