Rituals (Cainsville 5)

He walked over, still looking not entirely convinced that the house wasn't about to go up in smoke. Then he stopped in the entrance and blinked.

"Can't actually see anything, can you?" I said. "Between the lingering smoke and the fact that I tried to make the room as dark as possible. Simulated nighttime." I waved at the drawn shades. "I even taped them down. So, having ruined the presentation twice...third time's the charm?"

I flicked on a lamp. His gaze had been fixed on the roaring fire. Now it moved to the space before the fireplace, where I'd pushed aside the table and laid out as many blankets and pillows as I could quietly scrounge up. On the relocated table, I'd set out a tray of finger food and an ice bucket with Krug vintage champagne, one of the many birthday gifts I'd gotten from old friends who hadn't made actual contact since my life exploded.

"Oh, wait, final touch."

I scampered to a side table, flipped through my phone apps, and hit Start on one. The sound of the crashing surf filled the room.

"Uh, sorry, hold on." I flipped through the playlist and the storm was replaced by gentle waves lapping at a shore. "There. Now we won't feel as if we're on a ship that's about to go down."

Gabriel laughed. Not a quiet chuckle, but an actual laugh. He looked around the parlor and shook his head. "So, if we can't go to lakeside cabin..."

"It'll come to us."

"You are..." He seemed to struggle for a word, and I could have teased him about that, but it was an honest struggle as panic lit his eyes.

"You're something," he said at last, and I couldn't help sputtering a laugh. His eyes widened in horror. "That's not what I-- I mean, you're something else. Something good. Something..." He rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm not making sense. I'm sorry. I'm tired and..."

"Let me help," I said. "The problem is, as smooth as we might be in everyday life, when it comes to each other, all that glibness gets zapped from our brains. We can't seem to get it right, and when we try, it's like when you lean in to kiss someone and end up stomping on their foot while elbowing them in the ribs."

His lips curved, just a little. "Yes, exactly like that."

"Right now, what I should do is pour the champagne. Then we'd get comfortable in front of the fire and make small talk, relaxing and moving past this awkward moment. Then--and only then--I'd tell you what I want to say. That's smooth. But if I attempt that? The phone will ring. Someone will pound on the door. I'll have a vision. And Lloergan will develop a terrible case of gas."

The hound glowered from her spot by the fire.

"Even if none of that happens, I'll screw it up," I said. "I won't find the right words. Or I'll get cold feet and change my mind. So forget smooth." I took a deep breath. "This is what it sounded like, t

hat night in the tunnel."

Gabriel frowned, these clearly not being the words he expected.

"The river lapping against that platform." I nodded toward my phone, playing the wave effect. "It sounded like that, but it echoed, too. Everything echoed. And I was cold. Colder than I've ever been. I couldn't stop shivering. My teeth wouldn't stop chattering. And you were warm. So amazingly warm, and all I wanted was to get closer to you. When I got closer, I realized that was just an excuse to cuddle up against you and then, yes, to kiss you."

I looked up at him. "I might not have been fully conscious, and I might have been slipping into memories of Gwynn, but I knew exactly who I was kissing."

I stood there, heart pounding. I should kiss him. That was the proper way to end my declaration. But I couldn't budge. And then I realized I shouldn't. I had made my move. The next step was his.

Gabriel stood frozen to the spot, his eyes slightly wide, in that way I'd come to interpret as panic.

I'd made a mistake. Somehow I'd misinterpreted.

How the hell could I have misinterpreted?

No, I wasn't falling back on that, would not blame myself. If he couldn't make this next move, then he was never going to make it. However he might feel, he was never going to be able to open himself up, accept the risk. Nothing in his life had prepared him to do that.

I squeezed my eyes shut so he wouldn't see my disappointment. No, my devastation. Tears welled behind my lids as I struggled to think of what I could blurt before running past him and--

His fingers touched my cheek and slowly moved down to my chin, tilting it up and...

I remembered the kiss in the river. I may have told myself it had gotten a little blurry, but that was bullshit. Even if I'd been certain it was just my subconscious conjuring Gabriel for me, I'd clung to that memory, pulled it out and replayed it and polished it so I could not possibly forget, because, real or not, I didn't want to forget.

Even when Gabriel admitted it had been real, I'd been afraid to trust my memory. The kiss may have happened, but not as I remembered.

What I remembered was the kind of kiss I would read about in books and chuckle over, and think the author was making a mountain out of a molehill. It was a very nice molehill, to be sure, but the over-the-top description belonged farther along that path, when the fireworks really started.

But that kiss in the river? It was the fireworks.