“That phrase seems familiar.”
She smiled.
Then took his hand.
He looked at her.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“Are you certain?”
“About holding your hand?”
“Yes.”
She sighed dramatically.
“Mountain men are exhausting.”
“You asked for honesty.”
“I did.”
She looked at their joined hands.
“I like when you ask.”
His thumb moved lightly across her knuckle.
Clara’s breathing changed.
So did his.
She turned.
He was close now.
Closer than he had been since she arrived.
She could see a small scar through his beard.
His gray eyes dropped briefly toward her mouth.
Then rose again.
He did not move.
“Elias.”
“Yes?”
“You have never kissed a woman?”
His ears reddened.
Clara smiled.
“Once.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You lied.”
“No.”
“You said never been with.”
“A kiss is different.”
“Who?”
He looked irritated.
“Ruth.”
“The woman whose foot you stepped on?”
“Yes.”
“How was it?”
“She married somebody else.”
Clara laughed.
Then the laughter faded.
“Would you like to kiss me?”
Elias’s throat moved.
“Yes.”
“Then why aren't you?”
“Because I’m waiting to hear whether you want me to.”
Clara looked at him.
Frederick had never waited.
Not once.
She whispered:
“I do.”
Elias moved as if approaching a frightened animal.
Slowly.
One hand lifted toward her face.
Stopped.
Clara nodded.
His fingertips touched her cheek.
Warm.
Rough.
Gentle.
Then he kissed her.
Awkward at first.
Careful enough that Clara almost cried.
She shifted closer.
He immediately began pulling away.
“No.”
she whispered.
He stopped.
“I thought—”
“I know.”
She touched his beard.
“Again.”
The second kiss was better.
Not because Elias suddenly knew what he was doing.
Because Clara stopped being afraid halfway through.
When they parted, his forehead rested against hers.
“That was…”
he began.