Page 63 of Cabin Mate

“Here,” I say. “Let me fix it. I’m really good at paper airplanes.”

Alice looks skeptical, but seems to approve of my design once I’m finished.

“Thanks for playing with me, guys. But I have to go now,” Brooks says to the kids, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I have a surprise though.”

He walks over to the coffee table where his laptop bag is, takes his computer out, and starts playing an old episode of Ducktales. The kids are thrilled and all crowd onto the sofa to watch.

Brooks slides his hand into mine and leads me out the door and into the quiet hallway. The warmth of his hand simultaneously making me feel calm, and sending a zing of attraction through my body. His nearness has all of my senses on high alert. The feel of his rough hand in mine … of his arm brushing against the fabric of my dress. The scent of his masculine cologne … a scent so familiar that I feel at home when I inhale it. The sight of my small hand intertwined with his manly one. It’s all overwhelming, making me feel dizzy.

We continue walking until we arrive at the entrance of the reception. Brooks stops me with a tug on my hand before I can step inside the bustling room. “You said we needed to talk?”

I take a shaky breath, feeling suddenly nervous. “Oh, right,” I say, shrugging. “It can wait.” I turn and try to walk into the reception again, not ready to voice everything that has transpired today.

Brooks stays me again with his hand. His free hand comes up to my chin, forcing me to look at him. Since I’m wearing heels, my face is close to his. And it hits me just how much my best friend has changed over the years. He’s no longer the boy with the dewy skin who flies by the seat of his pants and flirts with anything that breathes … he’s a man now. With stubble on his chin, and the beginning of laugh lines forming around his eyes and mouth. And a look in his eyes that tells me he’d carry the weight of the world for me if I simply asked him to.

“Talk to me, Molly,” he urges, his forehead creasing with concern.

My mouth opens to speak, to tell him I know about the spoons, to ask him if he meant the words he wrote in the notes.

“Uh, looks like we have a couple under the mistletoe.” Preston’s voice comes through the speakers. Our heads snap up and we see Preston and Mildred eyeing us from the head table. Preston has the microphone and a big grin. “You know what that means.”

Everyone attending the reception turns their attention toward us as our heads tilt upward to see we’ve been standing directly under the mistletoe-covered awning.

I laugh awkwardly. “It’s okay, we said no kissing,” I remind him, giving him an out. But deep inside, I’m longing for this man to kiss me. To see what it would be like.

His eyes don’t stray from mine, his expression serious. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

“But our deal—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Forget our deal. Do you want me to kiss you?” he says each word slowly, his eyes boring into mine, searching for desire, or maybe permission.

Hesitating for a split second, I decided to answer honestly. “Yes,” I say, my voice sounding breathy and foreign to my own ears.

He doesn’t waste any more time. Brooks leans down and his lips brush mine gently in a tender caress. His hand slides around my waist to the bare skin of my back, and he pulls me closer to him. My hands slide up his strong arms and then around the back of his neck. The same neck I’ve noticed an embarrassing number of times the past few weeks. He’s all hard lines and masculinity to my silky softness. The mixture causes a delicious combustion.

He tilts his head one way, and I tilt mine the other like we’ve done this a million times. His soft mouth moves over mine repeatedly until I’m overwhelmed with the taste of him. Brooks’s lips taste like Hot Tamales: sweet, spicy, and a little unexpected. But perfect.

The whoops and hollers, whistles and laughter from the reception bring us back to reality. Brooks pulls back slightly to look at me before one side of his mouth turns up into his signature smirk, reminding me of the boy I met six years ago.

The flash of cameras makes us both squint. We look around to see the flash is coming from the wedding photographers, and Brooks’s eyes widen slightly.

“The bet,” I whisper. “Brooks, I’m so sorry.”

He wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t look upset. “It’s okay. It was worth it.”

Chapter 28

Brooks

Crap. I wonder how much I can offer the photographer to conveniently lose those photos.

I look at Molly and see a smile lighting up her face. The cameraman is instantly forgotten. David doesn’t know the Vanderbilts, anyway. The chances of him seeing that photo are very slim.

And would I honestly do anything differently, even if I had remembered the photographers? Hell no.

Kissing Molly was exhilarating. Like when you’ve waited in line for hours to ride a roller coaster, and you finally get your turn. The wait makes the experience even more fun. Except this was way more satisfying than that.

The orchestra has now switched out to a DJ, which I’m pleasantly surprised about. I was worried I'd have to remember how to waltz from the dance lessons my mother made all of us take years ago. I take Molly’s hand and lead her onto the dance floor.