“Sorry.” I look away, reaching for the glitter.
Pat’s fingers brush my jaw, a gentle urge for me to turn toward him. I resist, keeping my eyes on the star in my hand, making sure it gets all the glitter it needs. This job is very, very important and clearly needs my full and undivided attention.
“What’s on your mind, Lindybird?”
Pat’s fingers don’t leave my skin. Instead, they skate along my jaw and trail down my neck, practically leaving a glowing trail of electricity in their wake. The little hairs on my arms rise.
“Just trying to do a good job.”
“Mmm. Because this is very important work we’re doing.” His voice is low and husky, and it has me thinking about everything but glitter. Especially when he traces a single fingertip along my collarbone.
“The most important. Lives depend on these stars.”
My eyes close as his finger slides back to my shoulder and down my arm until he finds my wrist and draws lazy circles on the sensitive skin there. I’m pretty sure he’s hypnotizing me. Later, someone’s going to say an innocuous phrase like how was your weekend? and I’m going to start barking like a dog.
“I owe you an apology,” Pat says, and this sudden change of conversational course barely pulls me out of the mind-melting state of consciousness I’m in. I’d forgive anything in this moment.
“You do?”
“I do,” he says firmly. “First, for not getting home quickly enough last night. I wanted to be there before you went to sleep.”
I wanted you there before I went to sleep. Seems like these words are best kept to myself for now. Especially because I have no idea what would have happened if he had gotten home before I fell asleep.
“And then this morning. I came home and dove right into the whole Neighborly thing and didn’t even mention our kiss. I’m sorry, Lindy. I didn’t mean to make it seem like that kiss wasn’t the highlight of my week.”
Pat removes his hand from my wrist and cups my cheek, slowly urging me to face him. This time, I don’t resist. We’re only inches apart, and relief floods me when I see the same hunger in his eyes that I feel in mine.
“Sometimes with my ADHD I hyperfocus on something. This morning, that something was discovering all those posts on Neighborly.”
Did Pat ever tell me he has ADHD? I can’t remember him mentioning it when we were dating, but now doesn’t seem like the right time to start asking a bunch of questions. He clearly still has things he wants to say.
“That kiss”—his eyes drop to my lips—“was much more important than some community-wide gossip site, and I’m sorry if I made it feel insignificant. Or made you feel insignificant. It was very, very meaningful.”
Speaking of hyperfocus, I’m listening, but my eyes haven’t left his mouth. It’s such a beautiful mouth. And it is sweet relief to know he didn’t forget about the kiss.
That means we can do it again, right?
“So, what I’m hearing you say is you don’t regret the kiss?” I ask.
“Regret it? No. No! Is that what you thought?”
I drag my gaze away from Pat’s lips to meet his espresso eyes. “Normally, I’d expect you to do a celebratory dance or maybe drag me into a supply closet.”
His eyes spark. “Is there a supply closet in here?”
“I’m sure we could find one. But I draw the line at janitor’s closets. The smell of chemicals is a real buzzkill.”
“I don’t think I’d be paying attention to the smell of chemicals, but as you wish.”