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I gri
“Hey,” he said. “You changed your hair.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. It seemed like a lifetime ago. That blonde-haired boo-hoo-hoo girl who spent Christmas feeling sorry for herself, was that really me?
“Looks nice,” he said. He rubbed a lock between his thumb and forefinger. His knuckles slid down, grazing my cheek.
“Addie, I want you,” he whispered, and heat flamed to my face. Did he honestly just say that? That he wanted me, right here in Starbucks?
Then I realized what he meant. He was responding to my e-mail, the part where I said, If you want me, I’m yours.
My cheeks stayed warm, and I was glad no one in the store had ESP, because that was a classically self-absorbed misinterpretation. But even if they did have ESP—and how would I know, anyway?—it was certainly no crisis.
I rose on my toes and wrapped my arms around Jeb’s neck.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” I warned him, since I knew how he felt about being mushy in public.
“No,” he said, gently but firmly. “I’m going to kiss you.”
His lips touched mine, and a ringing filled my head, sweet and silver and pure. It was probably the bell on the door, jingling as Dorrie and Tegan went out. But I was far too busy to check.
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