“No, let me finish,” he said, a hand going firmly down on the stone between us. “Do you know how tiring it gets? ‘Mr. Kalamack, should we do this, or that? Have you weighed all the factors, Mr. Kalamack?’ Even Quen hesitates, and it drives me batty.”

“Sorry.”

“You, on the other hand, just go and do what you think needs to be done. If I can’t keep up, you don’t care. I like that. I’m glad you’re going to help me with the Rosewood demons.”

“Yeah,” I said, wondering if he had any more of that wine stashed somewhere. “That’s what you say now, but wait until they start playing with the ley lines.”

“My God, you have beautiful hair in the firelight,” he said softly, and I blinked. “It’s like your thoughts, all cinnamon and wild untamed. I’ve always liked your hair.”

I froze when he reached out and touched it, my breath slipping from me when his fingers grazed my neck. Slowly I reached up and took his hand, bringing it down. “Okay, we need to get you inside, Mr. Kalamack,” I said, thinking that he had had way too much to be comfortable saying what he was, doing what he was. “Come on, stand up. I’ll stay here with Al so he doesn’t steal the picture of your mom.”

I stood, still holding his hand and gently pulling him up with me. A part of me wanted this, but the smarter, wiser part knew it was a mistake.

“I am not drunk,” Trent said firmly, standing before me without a waver to his stance. “I don’t need to be drunk to say you have nice hair.”

A flutter lifted through me, and I shoved it away.

“And I do not want to go back to my apartments,” he said. “I want to go for coffee. Al isn’t going to wake up.” His eyes were on mine, and my heart pounded when he let them drop to my lips. “I am not drunk.”

“I wouldn’t care if you were.”

Trent’s arms were around me, and they felt right. “No, I want you to know that I do not need to be drunk to kiss you.”

“Um . . .” I started, heart pounding more when he leaned in, slowly, hesitantly, stopping just shy of my lips. All I had to do was lift my chin. Breath held, I did.