Then her lips are back on mine, needing and wanting with a hint of tentativeness, as if every moment is a new opportunity for me to reveal that this has been a set-up all along. I feel it down to my very bones, that fear in her, and I’ll do whatever it takes to kiss it away.

There’s a sound behind me. It’s a very familiar sound, but I’m lost in Jenny’s lips, learning more about her than I ever have before, so I don’t register what it is for several small eternities.

It’s the sound of a tray sliding into place on a tray stand.

A tray stand.

The phrase echoes around in my mind, but it can’t find room to settle because I am on fire for her and with her and nothing else in the world matters at all except this woman.

Behind me, the waitress clears her throat.

Awareness comes back like a bucket of ice water being drenched on the back of my neck. I evolve several levels in the space of a heartbeat. We’re in a restaurant. A popular restaurant. On a Friday night.

The next thing to hit me is the dead silence around us.

It’s not a complete silence, naturally, because a restaurant is never completely silent. The clatter of silverware and dishes and cookware floats distantly in from the kitchen, and soft music plays. It’s vaguely Italian and I’ve never noticed it before. I’ve never noticed it because in all the times I’ve eaten here, no one has managed to get every diner to stop talking at once.

They’re sure as hell not talking now.

Jenny looks stricken, and I grin up at her, unable to wipe it off my face.

“That was some kiss,” I murmur into her ear.

“Yeah,” she whispers.

It’s an effort to stand up, what with the incredible erection I have to deal with and the knowledge that all of Ruby Bay is staring at us. Somehow, I manage. I’m the eldest of the Bliss brothers, and not even abject mortification can bring me down.

Or maybe it could. I don’t really know. I don’t feel mortified. I feel like I have to get out of here, that’s true, but not because I’m ashamed of kissing Jenny London. I could never be ashamed of kissing her like that, because I meant every second.

I pull my wallet out of my pocket as I turn around to face our waitress, who is standing stoically next to the tray and the tray stand, her face an entirely new shade of red.

The lack of conversation around us calls for a bigger response, so I raise one hand and break the fourth wall. “Thanks, everybody.”