Shipped(81)

“Only if you can forgive me.”

“Deal.”

The weight that’s been pressing on my chest for the last two weeks evaporates like a puff of smoke. I groan low in my throat. “Now get over here and kiss me.”

Grinning, he reaches for me.

Someone coughs behind us. We have an audience. I pull back.

“We’re gonna go now,” says Tory, wincing. Christina and Michelle crowd behind her wearing matching expressions of gleeful surprise. “Unless you feel like we should get more done tonight on your proposal?”

My proposal for Marlen definitely needs more work, but there’s always tomorrow. Right now, there’s something—someone—more important. “No, it’s fine. You’ve been a huge help. I’m way further along than I would have been at this point without you. Thank you, all of you.”

Christina, Tory, and Michelle file out of my apartment one by one.

“Hey, Graeme.” Christina waves as she passes. “Great to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” he says, dipping his chin.

“We need to talk,” she mouths at me from behind her hand, shooting a meaningful glance at Graeme.

I chew on my lip to suppress a grin. “Later. Promise,” I mouth back.

Tory and Michelle step out and Walsh brings up the rear. She’s wearing my gray hoodie and has a gym bag slung across her chest.

“Where are you going?” I ask her, pushing off from the wall.

“To Christina’s. The latest season of Nailed It! just dropped on Netflix, so we’re going to binge. Have fun, you two. Don’t wait up. Good to see you, Graeme,” she says before jogging to catch up with everyone else. She flings an arm around Christina’s neck and they all disappear around the corner.

It’s just Graeme and me now in the green-carpeted hallway. The air between us charges.

“Do you want to come in?” I say at the same time he says, “Well, I should probably get an Uber to Ryan’s.”

He chuckles. “I’d love to.”

I feel Graeme’s presence at my back all the way into my apartment. When we reach the living room, the mess of paper plates, pizza boxes, and cups has me frowning. “One second.” I begin bustling around, stacking paper plates and stuffing them into pizza boxes.

When I carry them to the kitchen, footsteps follow. Graeme is behind me, his front to my back. Warm. Solid. My breath catches when his fingers curl around my waist. I still.

“Don’t worry about it. We can clean up later,” he murmurs in my ear. Reaching around me, he takes the boxes from my slackening grip and places them on the counter. In a caress as gentle as a summer breeze, he brushes my hair from my neck until it’s gathered over one shoulder.

Pure electricity zips through me as he kisses the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck, directly above the loose neckline of my slouchy sweater. I shiver when his tongue touches my skin and he trails kisses up the side of my throat. Pulling me closer, he reaches around to cup my face. I twist to look at him over my shoulder.

His eyes are hooded and his gaze consumes me.

Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

His lips descend to mine.

Bliss.

I close my eyes as I turn within his embrace to face him, not breaking the kiss, which is like no kiss I’ve ever experienced. It’s an apology. An affirmation. And a promise of what’s yet to come.

Graeme hauls me closer until our bodies are flush. I dive a hand into the soft strands of his rumpled hair. I’m on my toes. Then I’m off the floor completely as he lifts me to sit on the counter. I shove the pizza boxes away and they land with a fwap on the floor, crusts scattering across linoleum.

I don’t care.

His tongue dips into my mouth, and he tastes as crisp and bright as peppermint. Like a warm, sunny day on a white-sand beach. Like a lifetime full of promise. I hitch my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

A yowl like a woodchipper full of rocks echoes through the kitchen.

Graeme pulls back, frowning. “What the…”

“Noodles,” I groan.

Noodles the cat is sitting in front of his empty food bowl, snaggletooth jutting, feigning starvation—even though I fed him three hours ago. One eye stares at us like a disapproving chaperone, while the other ogles the refrigerator. His fur is especially wild today, a fluffy, ruffled mop.

Graeme’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “That’s your cat?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That’s your cat.”

“That’s my Noodles.”

His expression softens, his lips curving into an exultant grin. “And I thought Winnie was ugly,” he murmurs. Sliding his fingers into my hair, he palms my cheek. His blue eyes blaze like stars. “You know, I think I could fall in love with you.”

Warmth floods my chest. “Ditto.”





27




You’ve seriously never taken a personal day before?” Graeme asks. Dull, hazy sunlight peeks through my curtains and fans across his face from where he lies sprawled next to me in bed.

“Not like this.”

Except for a bout of pneumonia two years ago, this is the first time I’ve ever called off work last minute. I text Walsh a heads-up that I’m staying home today with Graeme, replace my cell phone on the nightstand, and snuggle back into the warm depths of my bed. My bare legs tangle with Graeme’s under the sheets. “Won’t James think it’s weird that we both called off today?”