Cade did not lift fingers to touch his lips, though he had the impulse to. The kiss lingered, unexpectedly brushing something deeper than skin, leaving notes of sweet tea and crumbled bacon and warmth.
Which was ludicrous; he was a passing moment, a story for Jeremiah to tell whoever came next, and Jeremiah Carver was a nice boy who meant nothing to Cadence Bell, of course not, not like that. A diversion, a source of comfort, and certainly he liked Jeremiah, he would never wish those dark forest-deer’s eyes any harm, but—
His chest ached suddenly. It did not appear to like the mental glimpse of Jeremiah and harm, the way he guessed that gaze would go soft and wounded and vulnerable, silently bleeding brown velvet, flinching from further injury. He did not like that at all, and drew a bre
