Page 43 of Matchmaking On The Menu

Heat blooms low in my stomach before I can stop it. Well, that’s new.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says. “Tell me to stop.”

I should. I should say something about this being a bad idea. About responsibilities and small towns and how nothing stays quiet for long. I should probably also mention the fact that I don’t even know his name. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

I stand there, looking at him, every sensible thought I’ve ever had leaving my body all at once. That feels like answer enough.

His hand shifts against my side, fingers brushing upward just slightly, not quite touching my skin but close enough that my body reacts anyway. A spark goes through me so fast and sharp it nearly steals the breath from my lungs. Everything narrows into a tight bubble. The music thuds to the same beat of my heart and the air pulls us closer and tucks us in.

Then he leans in. Slowly. Slow enough that I could stop him, close enough that I don’t.

His mouth presses to the rhinestones covering mine.

It shouldn’t feel like a kiss. Not through the mask. Not through the layer of glittering fabric and whatever amount of common sense I still technically possess. But it absolutely does. I can’t tell if it’s the intent or maybe the heat of it. Or if it’s the way his hand tightens at my waist for one suspended second, like he forgot there was anything between us at all. His warm breath whispers past my lips, teases my tongue, has me opening for more even though the mask prohibits that.

My fingers curl against his shoulder, my breath catching hard. Something hot and electric unwinds low in my stomach, and I have the deeply mortifying thought that okay, maybe Shelly was right about festival magic after all. I feel him harden against my hip. The contact is brief, barely there, but it sends a sharp, unexpected jolt through me. My breath stutters. My nipples pebble, and I press in closer, seeking more.

And then something changes. He stills as suddenly as a wire pulled too tight, then pulls back like he’s been burned.

Shit, what happened? My cheeks flame, and I’m sure he can see it through the pale makeup. “What⁠—?”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

The words—too abrupt, too distant—hit me like a fist to the gut. They feel too final for what just passed between us. And before I can make sense of it, before I can ask, reach for him, or do literally anything useful, he’s already stepping back. Already letting go. Already disappearing into the crowd like the whole thing was a trick of light and music and wishful thinking.

Gone. Just gone.

I stare after him, pulse still racing, body still very much operating under the impression that we are in the middle of something, actually, thank you so much. My lips still feel kissed, which is absurd.

LOCAL WOMAN QUESTIONS REALITY AFTER TECHNICALLY NON-EXISTENT KISS.

“What the hell?”

Shelly’s voice cuts through the fog as she appears at my side, Quadri and Mary right behind her. I turn toward them slowly, probably looking like I’ve just witnessed a minor supernatural event.

Shelly’s eyes are huge. “Where did he go?”

“Who was that?” Quadri asks, already scanning the crowd like she’s about to hunt him for sport.

Mary tilts her head, quieter, more focused. “Are you okay?”

I open my mouth. Close it again. Try again. “I…”

I’ve got nothing. Great. Just great.

BREAKING NEWS: BASIC MOTOR FUNCTIONS FAIL FOLLOWING UNEXPECTED ATTRACTIVE STRANGER INCIDENT.

“I have no idea,” I finally manage, which feels deeply insufficient for what just happened.

Shelly grabs my arm. “No, absolutely not. That was not a ‘no idea’ situation. That was a moment. That was”—she gestures wildly toward the crowd—“cinematic. Where did he go?”

“I don’t know!” I snap.

A couple nearby glances over. I lower my voice immediately. “He just… left.”

Quadri’s gaze sharpens. “Why?”

Excellent question. One I would love to have answered.