Chapter 18 Ruger #3
Laugh lines crinkle at the corners of Peter’s eyes when he joins us a few minutes later, clapping his gloved hands together. This right here, he says, gesturing at the sweeping vista behind us, would make a killer Christmas card. Come on.
Wrenley and I exchange a look that’s half-amused, half-oh no, but I reach for my phone anyway and pass it over to Peter.
She steps beside me, and I instinctively rest my hand on the small of her back. She leans in just slightly, and we both face the camera, smiling.
Peter grins and says, Now, one with a kiss! You’ve got to mark the occasion.
Wrenley’s head snaps toward me so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t have whiplash.
Oh, she says.
Right, I say at the same time.
There’s a brief, charged silence.
And then she adds, We are engaged.
I nod slowly, because we are. Technically.
Peter raises an eyebrow, waiting. I shift toward her, my hand still at her back. I see the moment she swallows, both nervous and unsure.
We don’t have to if— I start.
It’s fine, she says quickly, too quickly. It’s just a kiss.
I lean in, and she tilts her face up to meet me.
Her lips are soft, a little cold, and there’s the slightest tremble in her exhale as we kiss.
Her hand curls at the front of my coat like she’s anchoring herself.
The scent of her fills my lungs, and the warmth of her body seeps through every layer of clothing on me.
My entire world narrows to the feel of her mouth against mine.
She steps in closer. It’s a small movement, but it feels monumental.
I tighten my arm around her waist and tease the seam of her lips with my tongue, silently asking a question I’m suddenly desperate to know the answer to.
To my fucking delight, she answers.
Her lips part just enough to let me in, and she melts against my body as my other hand comes up to cup her cheek.
She makes a sound that goes right to my chest and threatens to pull out the most primal parts of me.
But then she pulls back, and my chest feels hollow at the loss of her, and every instinct I possess is urging me to close the distance again.
Peter makes some kind of approving noise and hands back the phone, but I barely hear it. I’m too busy looking at Wrenley. Her lips are parted. Her eyes are wide like she’s just been hit with something she wasn’t expecting.
Same, baby.
Absolutely same.
Peter’s voice cuts across the silence. Alright, lovebirds. Back to the chopper. We’ve gotta get off this ice before the wind picks up much more.
Wrenley laughs, but it’s breathy and a little off. When she turns away, I swear she’s touching her lips like she’s not sure what happened either. I follow behind her as we make our way back to the helicopter.
My mind is spinning. She kissed me back. And it didn’t feel like it was purely out of obligation. She kissed me like she meant it. Or is this all in my head?
I spent months convincing myself I could do this. That I could marry her on paper, help her build a future, and somehow keep my heart separate from all of it.
Turns out I’m an idiot.
We climb back into the helicopter, and Wrenley settles into her seat, pulling the headset over her ears. She looks at me with a soft smile, and my chest tightens all over again.
The helicopter lifts off, and the landscape falls away beneath us, but my thoughts remain stubbornly on the woman a few feet away.
I keep replaying the kiss in my head. The way she stepped closer.
How her mouth opened for me and made me feel like in that moment, whatever exists between us isn’t living exclusively in my imagination.
But that’s created a whole new problem. Now, I need to know. I need to know if that kiss meant what I think it meant. Whether she’s been fighting this as hard as I have. If any of this is real.
The rotor blades spin overhead, loud enough to drown out every sound around us. Well, every sound except the truth bouncing around in my brain. I don’t think that after that kiss, I can fake it anymore.
The drive back to the hotel is quiet, but not in a comfortable way.
Every mile seems to add another layer to it until the truck cab feels too small for both of us.
Wrenley just stares out the passenger window with her fingers laced together in her lap, her expression unreadable.
Every now and then, I catch myself looking over at her before forcing my eyes back to the road.
The problem is that the longer the silence stretches, the harder it becomes to hold on to the certainty I’d felt on that glacier.
The silence follows us all the way to the hotel, through the glass door, and into the lobby.
We walk side by side to the elevator, but it feels like there is an ocean between us.
She doesn’t reach for me or brush against my arm.
She doesn’t even make one of the teasing comments that come so naturally between us.
The overhead lights seem harsher than they did this morning, the conversations around us louder.
Every detail feels strangely sharp, as though my brain is trying to focus on anything other than the question I actually want answered.
The elevator arrives with a soft chime. Wrenley steps in, and I follow.
The doors slide shut, sealing us into the small space. I can hear the hum of the elevator, the rustles of her clothes as she shifts her weight, and my own heartbeat pounding far harder than it has any right to.
Suddenly, I realize I’d rather hear her say that she doesn’t want me than to continue to drown in the uncertainty.
I turn toward her, and I know my eyes are intense when she startles as she looks at me.
What are you doing? she asks softly, confusion written all over her face.
I take a step closer, my knees threatening to give. I take another step closer, closing the distance between us. Her breath catches. Mine does too. For a second, I just stand there looking at her, and then instinct takes over.
Before I can think about the consequences, I pull her flush against me and press my lips to hers.