“I didn’t then,” I say. “Right now, there’s no place I’d rather be.” Our eyes lock, and I want to reach across and press my lips against hers. Earlier today—even earlier this evening—it was clear kissing Rosey was the last thing I’m supposed to do, the last thing I’m supposed to want. But in this moment, all the clarity has gone and my mind is full of fog and her. I can’t think of one single reason why I shouldn’t be kissing the woman in front of me.

“Are you cold?” she asks, as I take her mug from her and place it next to mine.

I shake my head and cup her face. “Are you?”

She bites down on her lip. “This is probably a bad idea, but I want to kiss you right now.”

“You’re right, it probably is a bad idea.” I let my hands drop from her face, but she places her palms over them and puts them back.

“But I want you to do it anyway.”

We stare at each other for a few more moments. I try to remember why being here, staring into Rosey’s blue eyes, is a bad idea, but my mind is blank. All I can see is her.

I lean forward. She smells of a pine forest after rain. Her fingers smooth up my chest and my entire body clenches at the feel of her touching me. Part of me knows I should try to resist her, because if I let myself melt into her touch, I’m screwed. I can’t ever remember feeling this way before. Maybe because in New York, it’s easier. All the rules are laid out in front of you: You go on a date. You kiss, you don’t kiss. And then you can disappear back into the city if it doesn’t work out. Things in Star Falls aren’t so simple.

Rosey lifts her face slightly, as if she’s asking for me, and suddenly I remember why I shouldn’t be kissing this woman. The Colorado Club. I’m her goddamn boss.

I’m her goddam boss and she doesn’t know it.

I should tell her, say something. She needs to know. But I’m trying to lie low, stay focused. Kissing Rosey was never part of the plan.

A screeching yowl from somewhere interrupts us and we break apart, my hands falling from her face, our breath still mixing in the cold night air. Just as I begin to think I imagined the noise, Rosey—panting, chest already heaving—says, “Did you hear that? Was it a wolf?”

We shift to face the wilderness, but I can’t let her go completely. My hand slides down her arm and takes her hand in mine. “It didn’t sound like a wolf.”