“It’s a giant catsup bottle!” I explained. “Who doesn’t want to see that? They even have a festival!”

The grin was back, the kind of grin that always, always held sway over my heart. “You’re . . . adorable.”

I thought I might cry.

There was a good chance.

“Even though going to a catsup festival isn’t on my list of things to do, I would gladly take you there.” He stated this like it would happen just because he claimed it would. “We have a lot of time to do these things and we’re going to—”

I moved without thinking.

My brain just shut right down, and for one of the rare moments in my life, I wasn’t all about thinking and little else.

Bending at the waist, I cupped the sides of his face, welcoming the prickly tickle against my palms and brought my mouth to his.

I kissed Brock.

Kissed him like I’d wanted to at eighteen and kissed him in a way I never would’ve imagined at that age I’d one day be capable of.

Brock was no submissive recipient. He wouldn’t sit there and let me kiss him. That just wasn’t in his blood. He quickly took over. His hand wrapped around the back of my head and he returned that kiss fiercely. Blood immediately turned to lava in my veins. I broke the kiss, pulling back far enough to see him, and realization slammed into me. Damn it all to hell.

I was so in love with Brock again.

Epigraph

“From a little spark may burst a flame.”

—Dante Alighieri

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Oh Christ.

I really was in love with him, and if I was going to be honest with myself, I’d probably never stopped loving him. Not completely. It was why, that after two months of being back in my life, he could worm his way into my heart, firmly cementing himself there.

Realizing how strongly I felt was scary as hell, but I didn’t want to dwell on it. I didn’t want my fears and crap to hold me back in this moment, because I wanted to do something incredibly naughty considering where we were.

I don’t know what gave me the idea. Maybe it was knowing how hard he was when I walked in. It could’ve been what he said about helping me get out there and live. Or it could’ve been the fact he’d actually take me to a festival that centered around an exceedingly large catsup bottle.

It could’ve been all those things, because what I wanted to do wasn’t like me. Not at all, but I didn’t want to think about that, because what was “like me” didn’t matter.