The golden morning highlights the beauty that some might miss when passing by, rushing in their lives instead of soaking her in. Lighter strands that have forgotten to fade after last summer hang freely around her face and her lips, just moistened, glisten like an invitation.

And here the best I did was narrow her eye color down to green, but they’re so much more than I had previously seen. Gold flecks shine in the sunlight as if I’ve discovered treasure.

Fumbling for words that could do her justice, I lean in, so close to kissing her and easing my misery from the anticipation.

“Harbor?” she whispers, her lips barely parted as her hand fists my shirt.

“I was stalking you.”

Her head jerks back and a restrained smile tilts the corners of her mouth upward.

What the fuck am I saying?

I turn to make a quick getaway, but she holds tighter to my shirt, and with both hands, she brings me back to her. “I knew it,” she says, giggling.

“And I’m humiliated.” I run my hand through my hair. “You’re fucking with my cool.”

She doesn’t give me any sympathy, though. Not surprised by how she’s eating this up. “I’m not fucking with anything. You don’t need cool with me. You just need to be you and the you you’re being is pretty darn smooth.” Closing the space between us, she adds, “Do you know how hard it was to walk inside that house last night with you standing by your car looking like Jake Ryan?”

“Who?”

“It’s a movie.”

“Ah. Are you saying I give main character energy?”

“You could most definitely be the hero of a story.”

I plant my right hand on the brick wall above her head. “What about your story?”

The smile has softened like her gaze. Still holding me close, she says, “Yes.”

Nothing more is needed. I cup her cheek with my left hand and tilt down. “I’m going to kiss you, Lark Summerlin.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Harbor Westcott.”

Our lips come together, meeting in the middle as if she couldn’t wait any longer than me. Pillow-soft pressure turns heated when our lips part and our tongues meet, tangling together for the first time.

The taste of her is just the appetizer. My body presses to hers, sending her against the brick wall and giving us purchase against each other. Her hands run over my chest as I caress her cheek and slide my hand to the slope of her shoulder.

When I hear some guy say, “Get a room,” I pull myself off her because not only is that guy right, but I don’t want to sit through class as hard as a rock.

Fuck.

Too late.

Lark tucks strands that have escaped the elastic on her head behind her ear and then runs her fingers on my chest. “So we kissed.”

Grinning, I say, “We did kiss.” I give her enough space to decide what she wants to do next.