Chapter 17
Sylvie
By the time I’ve tasted all the beers and finished one, the potato skins have disappeared, Prudence is snoring quietly in my lap, her paws twitching as she dreams, and I’ve firmly decided that I could not have gotten luckier to land in New Hopewell.
Ghost problems notwithstanding.
I yawn, covering the giant stretch of my mouth the best I can, and Aiden nudges me.
“Come on, let’s get you home. You need your beauty rest.”
“Are you trying to call me ugly?” I ask, the comedic effect dampened by another gigantic yawn.
He laughs lightly, then tucks a stray, weirdly dried hair behind my ear.
It’s a tender touch, and the slight brush of his fingertips on my skin wakes me up more than I thought possible.
“You are not ugly, not even close. You’re beautiful.”
“I think you’ve had too many beers,” I say, trying to laugh off the compliment.
Trying to laugh off the way my body is heating all the way through, to the very tips of my toes.
“Not too many beers to lie about that. I’ll walk you home,” he says, standing quickly, offering his arm to me. Aiden’s expression is casual, like he didn’t just set my heart to racing.
Narrowing my eyes, I check out the amount of beer left on his wooden cutting board holder thing. Flight, that’s what he called it.
Well, he isn’t wrong.
“I guess when you brew the beer you don’t necessarily want to drink it all the time, huh?”
“Something like that,” he says agreeably. “I’m going to walk Sylvie home.”
“Night, y’all,” I tell everyone, trying not to read too much into him walking me home. Wanting to walk me home. Walking into my home again.
Because it’s not like it was last night. I held his wrist.
He touched my hair.
That’s different. There’s a tension there now.
Or maybe it’s just too many potato skins and fried pickles and beer.
I scoop up Prudence, holding the passed out cat to my chest like a baby, then stand up carefully to avoid waking her and slip my purse strap over my shoulder.
I’m afraid if I so much as make eye contact with Tara, she’s going to make an obscene gesture again, so I give a tiny wave and practically sprint away from my new friends.
New friends. Maybe it’s the fact I’m sleepy and full of cheesy potatoes, but the phrase makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
I make my way through the still busy brewery, clutching Prudence to my chest and smiling at the few people who ooh and aah over the passed out cat.
“Is she okay?” Aiden asks me, holding the door open so I don’t have to juggle her.
“Cheese coma. It happens to the best of us.”
“Sounds serious.”
“She’s snoring,” I stage whisper at him. “It’s very serious.”
The world outside the snug, loud warmth of the brewery feels as changed as my own outlook towards the future.
The drizzly, grey day has ushered in an uncharacteristically cool night.
A crisp wind bites against the tip of my nose and my cheekbones, the chill at the back of my neck uncomfortably reminding me I put my hair up wet.
“Wow, it actually feels like fall,” I say. “Look at the moon.”
Dark wisps of clouds streak across the bright sphere hanging in the sky, moving quickly through the warm white glow. The streets of New Hopewell have been fully transformed into a veritable Halloween shrine, jack-o-lanterns glowing in every doorway, lining the sidewalks.
“Oh, there’s the cauldron Colton said he had to mess with.” It’s huge, and green-lit smoke spills over the top in a festive wave.
“How was Colton today?” Aiden asks, guiding me back down the street.
“Busy. I didn’t really pay him much attention. Prudence, however, apparently creeped on him all day.” Her purring intensifies, and I chuckle to myself.
Next to me, Aiden relaxes slightly, like the news that I didn’t pay attention to Colton has lifted a weight from his shoulders.
I must be imagining that, though. Still… what if I’m not?
Aiden would be nice to kiss.
“He wasn’t the one who threw stuff at you, right?”
“What?” I ask, nearly stumbling. Aiden’s steady hands keep me (and Prudence) upright, and I lean into him.
He’s warm and smells like clean, piney-fresh man, and I nearly sag against the welcome warmth of him.
His chuckle reverberates through my chest, and he wraps his arm around my waist.
Heat spirals through me at the brief touch of his fingertips against my hip, my heartbeat speeding up to Olympic sprinter levels.
Time seems to stand still as we both stop, staring at each other.
Aiden’s gaze heats, his attention slipping to my lips then back to my eyes.
“He didn’t throw anything at me,” I finally manage to answer.
“Good,” Aiden says.
We should keep walking. The back entrance to my house is only a few steps away.
But we don’t.
His other hand cradles my face and there’s a hushed, solemn moment where he waits, leaning closer.
I can’t help smiling, happiness bubbling through me, champagne-effervescent.
“Kiss me,” I tell him, throwing caution to the wind. Who needs it?
I don’t. Not when Aiden is right here, warm, kind, and so damn handsome it makes my heart hurt.
He laughs again, the sound and warmth of his breath washing over my skin like summer sunshine.
Stretching up on my tiptoes, I close the distance between us.
The first brush of his lips isn’t a question, but an answer to one that’s been lingering between us since he appeared in my life yesterday.
It’s not a yes or a no.
It’s a picture of the future, painted in a wash of gentle colors and firm brushstrokes that sends a sizzle of pleasure up my spine.
It’s the softest, sweetest kiss I can remember, and when he pulls away, his gaze slightly awed, I don’t want the night to end.
I don’t want an end when it comes to him, not at all.
“Come inside?” I ask him, tilting my head, wondering if the world has shifted or if it’s just me.
“Yes,” he says on an exhale.
Giddy, I rearrange Prudence, who seems to be alert again, or at least, in less of a cheese-based coma state, and unlock the door. Aiden follows me in on quiet feet.
I reach around him in the narrow, checkered entryway to relock the door, and Prudence darts out of my admittedly loose grip, sprinting upstairs like her tail is on fire.
And, for the first time, he and I are truly alone.
Together.
“Sylvie,” he says, and I don’t think I’ve ever liked the sound of my name more than I do right now.
His hands cradle the back of my head, his lips meeting mine again in a flurry of sensation.
I can’t get enough.
My palms sweep over his biceps, and a soft moan leaves my lips at the swell of his muscled shoulders.
“You must work out all the time,” I say, breathless, as he pulls away, grinning down at me.
“It’s nice to be appreciated.”
“Seriously,” I say, eyeing him with unprofessional interest. “Do you work out every day?”
“Not every day,” he says, shaking his head.
“But almost every day.”
A laugh, then another kiss.
I could get drunk on them.
“Almost every day,” he agrees, then quirks an eyebrow. “Upstairs?”
“Probably a better idea than here.”
I squeak in surprise as he lifts me into his arms, then carries me up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“You are definitely in better shape than me,” I tell him, cackling like a maniac as he pauses, glancing around my mostly unpacked apartment.
“I am trying really hard to pretend like I sprint upstairs carrying beautiful women like that all the time.”
My nose crinkles. “I don’t like the idea of you carrying beautiful women up the stairs all the time.”
“Well, you’re the only one I’ve carried upstairs ever, and I am very much trying not to look winded, so there goes my grand plan to look cool for you.”
All the happiness inside me spills out in a laugh.
“I like your laugh,” he says.
“I like that you make me laugh,” I tell him. “Laughing is good for you.”
“I think you might be good for me.” His expression softens even more, and then his mouth is on mine again, asking and demanding in equal parts.
I think he might be even better for me—because I can’t remember the last time anyone made me feel so good.
So pretty, so wanted, so desirable.
We’re on the couch in a flash, his hands tender on my waist, my hips.
There’s no denying the tension between us was building to this—the feel of his lips against mine, the slide of his tongue stoking a fire I wasn’t sure I had in me.
My hands press against his chest and I straddle his hips, rocking against him with a needy intention that has us both gasping at the sensation.
“Wait,” he grits out, his eyes squeezed shut.
I go still.
Did I do something wrong? Was I too much? Shit.
“I just, gimme a second, sweetheart, or I’m going to lose control.”
I collapse against his chest, huffing a laugh into the crook of his neck. Then, because I feel like it, I bite him.
Just a little bit.
Just for funsies.
“Sylvie,” he groans.
“Maybe I want you to lose control,” I say, then lick the little spot I bit. “Maybe I think that sounds like fun.”
“You deserve more than fun. You deserve a lot more than fun.”
I squint at his neck, breathing in the clean, masculine scent of his skin. “Then give me what you think I deserve. Fun probably should be part of the equation at this point, though. I mean, if we’re not having fun, then… doesn’t that sort of ruin the whole thing?”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Which means I’m right, obviously.” I give an exaggerated eye roll then toss my hair. Which is tied up in a tight bun, so I end up just looking like an idiot.
But Aiden laughs, and it makes me laugh too—and then we sit there, grinning at each other for a beat before I decide to take matters into my own hands.
Literally.
“Stop me if I do something—anything—you don’t like,” I tell him.
“I don’t think you could do anything I wouldn’t like.”
“What if I bit your dick?” I ask, batting my eyelashes.
He barks out a laugh. “Okay, yes. I don’t want you to bite my dick off. Thank you so much for setting that boundary. But otherwise, your mouth there? That sounds… perfect.”
“Noted. Scout’s honor that I will not bite your dick off.”