GARRETT POV
Her lips barely brushed mine.
It wasn’t even a kiss.
It was a question.
A tremble.
A fragile, almost apologetic press of warmth against my mouth like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to want me and was bracing for me to pull away. To refuse her.
And for one suspended second that felt like an entire season of my life, I didn’t move.
Because she kissed me.
She chose me.
Not because I cornered her. Not because she felt obligated. Not because she was scared.
She leaned into me.
And my body short-circuited so violently it felt like someone had slammed a fist straight through my ribs and grabbed my spine.
I had imagined kissing her more times than I would ever admit out loud. I had imagined it slow, careful, asking, giving her time to retreat.
I had not imagined this — h
