Carson shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe she lives on this lake, and that’s why she was at the bar that night, and now she’s . . . I don’t know, wedding crashing or something? I have a good idea—why don’t you go ask her?”
Bennett shoots an unamused glare at Carson. “Funny.”
“Well, if you’re not going to shoot your shot, I’m going to at least shoot mine,” Carson says, and my stomach sinks at the thought of him approaching her.
Instead, to my surprise, Carson turns toward me with an outstretched hand and asks, “May I have the honor of this dance, my lady?”
My chest warms and heat floods my cheeks in both relief and embarrassment for being jealous when I have nothing to be jealous of. The way Carson is looking at me—with a twinkle in his eyes as if I were the beginning and end of his whole world—should give me all the reassurance I need. He likesme. He wants to pursueme. And I’m getting so tired of coming up with reasons why we wouldn’t work, why this shouldn’t happen.
So, I decide to take a step toward him, willing myself to explore what it might be like to be the woman Carson Wilder spins around the dance floor. When I place my hand in his, the smile that eclipses his face is otherworldly.
We’ve just gotten out on the dance floor as a song the DJ was playing comes to an end. Instead of playing another, he announces that there was a special request. Jackson takes the stage again, this time picking up the guitar Bennett was playing earlier. He sits on a barstool and lowers the mic before strumming a few chords on the guitar. A moment later, I recognize the opening chords of Morgan Wallen’s new version of “Spin You Around.”
“I love this song,” I tell Carson as he pulls me into his embrace. Resting my head against his chest, I listen to his racing heart for a moment before admitting, “Everytime I hear it, it makes me want to dance in the kitchen with you.”
This little bit of vulnerability is more than I’ve shown him when it comes to returning any sort of feelings for him. Too nervous to peek at his face, I keep my head where it is. That is, until I feel the deep rumble of his laughter. Looking up, I find Carson peering down at me with a bewildered expression.
“What are you laughing at?” I demand.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Well, no, that’s not true. It’s you. I’m laughing at the fact that we’ve lived together for over five months, almost the exact timeline of when this song came out. And we’ve cooked together in the kitchen—”
I cut him off, “Correction, I cook in the kitchen, and you stand there and look pretty.”
His eyes glimmer in amusement before he continues, “I’ve been in the kitchen with you while you’ve cooked more times than I can count, and not once have you ever mentioned wanting to dance with me.”
Feeling bashful, I try to look away but Carson guides my face to look back at his with his hand beneath my jaw.
“Don’t shy away from me, Austin. Not when I feel like you’re finally letting me in.”
My pulse hammers against his hand as he holds my stare. I could lose my head in the enchantment that is Carson’s turquoise eyes.
The way he stares at me as if I’m the only person he sees sends a thrill down my spine, it’s intoxicating.
Wetting my lips, I watch him shake his head again at me.
“Don’t do that,” he softly pleads.
“Do what?” I ask because I genuinely don’t know what I did.
“Don’t make me want to go against every rule I set for myself,” he replies.
Carson must see the question on my face because he clarifies, “I’m not kissing you tonight. Not like this, not until you’re ready. Because once I kiss you, Austin, I know I’ll never be able to let you go. There’s not a chance in hell once I’ve tasted your sweet lips that I’ll ever be able to go back to pretending I’m okay with being just your friend. It won’t be enough at that point.”
Why do I have the inclination that it isn’t enough now? For either of us.
“So I’m going to be a good boy and pivot this conversation to something I’ve been dying to know.”
I let out a long sigh. “And what would that be?” I ask.
“What inspired you to write your book?”
His question catches me off guard, so much so I find myself blurting out, “You.” I purse my lips together, cursing myself for admitting that out loud.
“How so?” he counters, his brows lifting in surprise.
“I should actually thank you for inspiring me.”
“Me?” he asks incredulously.
