“I confess, I’ve thought of this night for many months.” George’s hand found hers. It was a gentle touch in the dark, followed by the intentional curling of his warm fingers around hers.

Her skin tingled with anticipation like the moment of static in the air before a lightning storm. “As have I.”

“I’ve enjoyed our letters,” he said, his voice low, intimate. “However, I know war can be difficult. If you would prefer to leave yourself open for a man in London—”

“No,” Grace replied too quickly.

They both laughed, shy, nervous chuckles.

“I look forward to every letter you write.” She ran her thumb over the back of his hand, exploring the newfound closeness. “And whenever I encounter something quizzical or amusing, you and Viv are the first ones I think I must share it with in my next letter.”

“I have no right to ask you to wait for me.” He closed the half step between them, and the air became nearly too thin to breathe. “We don’t know how long this war will go on.”

“You’re worth waiting for, George Anderson.” Her pulse raced.

He lifted his free hand, gently touching the left side of her cheek and lowered his mouth to hers. It was a sweet, tender kiss that robbed her of all thought.

He wasn’t as eager as Simon Jones had been back in Drayton, and she was glad for it.

George wasn’t that kind of man. He was thoughtful and careful and put his soul into everything he did. Though the kiss was gentle and light, it touched her in a deep place she knew would forever belong to him.

“Good evening, my beautiful Grace.” He swept his forefinger down her chin, lingering a second before regretfully falling away. “I look forward to your next letter. Promise me you’ll be safe.”

“Only if you do as well.” She gazed into his eyes, already lost in them. “I’m eager for your return already.”

He grinned at her, a flash of white teeth in the darkness. Grace pushed through the front door, startling Viv and Mrs. Weatherford, who had been curiously close in the entryway.

Mrs. Weatherford looked guiltily at the ceiling as Grace shut the door.

“Taking tea in the entryway?” Grace teased.

“Oh, do stop.” Viv waved her hand. “You know full well we were trying to listen in on you. It was quite rude of you both to speak so softly that we couldn’t hear a word.”

The hack’s engine outside rumbled, carrying George away. Who knew when they’d see one another again? Months, if they were lucky.

She touched her fingers to her mouth where the warmth of his lips still lingered. She would wait those months happily for him. Years even, if that’s what it took.

There wasn’t another man like George Anderson.

“Well.” Mrs. Weatherford puffed with impatience. “Do tell us.”