Every Little Kiss Read Free Page A

moment, Casey became aware of the present, of what was right in front of her, which included Abe’s skin against hers. She could picture the blond hairs on his forearms, the tiny pores, the blood warm underneath. His breath was so close. Every exhale was a whisper of reassurance.
    Abe’s fingers were steady and firm. A working man’s hands, Casey thought. Not like the hands of all the other accountants at her last job.
    “You’re doing great,” Abe murmured, leaning forward and speaking the words into her hair. Casey’s breath nearly vanished again, but not from fear. It was the fact that his lips felt mere inches away.
    She wasn’t used to being this near anyone, let alone a firefighter. She tried to recall the last time she’d been kissed—been held—but the fog of time was too thick. She couldn’t glimpse through it.
    Casey was suddenly grateful for the darkness so Abe wouldn’t see her grimace of shame. There was a word for women like her, she knew. Spinster. It might not be the 1800s, but the label fit. Spinster even had the right sound to it. The spitting, biting consonants were the perfect reminder that she’d been living a prudish, uptight existence for far too long, batting back the part of her that secretly wanted to break free and live with abandon. With adventure, even.
    “Easy now,” Abe said. “Just keep relaxing. The tech is coming.”
    Casey stilled, figuring she must have tensed up just then and Abe had felt it.
    “I’m—I’m doing okay,” she replied. Her voice sounded small and tinny.
    Abe shifted, his leg grazing hers. An unexpected jolt shot through her nerves. There was so much of him, Casey realized. He must be at least six foot four, whereas she was barely five foot five. Unlike her sister, Audrey, she didn’t have an athlete’s body underneath her clothes. All she had was her medium brown hair and her average figure from being a normal office worker for the past decade.
    Here in the darkness, though, maybe it didn’t matter. She shifted just slightly, inching closer to Abe. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard a soft grunt from him.
    Time either slowed way down or sped up. Casey couldn’t tell. She had no idea how long she’d been pressed against Abe when there was a scuffling sound from above them. Casey jerked, wondering if the elevator ties were finally going to give way and they were going to go plunging downward.
    “That’s just Quinn and Reese working with the tech to open the doors on the floor above us. While they do that, I want you to tell me about a place that you love,” Abe said. Was it her imagination, or was he clutching her more tightly? “We’re going to picture it together. You’re going to tell me all about it.”
    Tears prickled her eyes. Surely it was the claustrophobia jerking her emotions from one extreme to another. That’s why she was getting so worked up over a silly question.
    And yet her chest ached as she tried to think about a place she loved—as she tried to think about anything she loved, frankly.
    There was her sister, of course.
    Audrey was generous and kind and beautiful, and Casey had loved her so ferociously it had almost ruined their relationship. Casey’s stomach twisted at the memory of how she’d driven a wedge between Audrey and the man Audrey loved, Kieran Callaghan. She’d done it out of fear, out of a need for control, and it had been terrible. Ruinous, even. Fortunately, Audrey and Kieran were married now, and Audrey had forgiven Casey. But Casey wasn’t sure if she had yet forgiven herself. She wasn’t sure she’d earned it.
    Then of course there was Christmas. Since she was a little girl, Casey had adored Christmas with its sparkling tinsel and glittering streets and freshly cut trees and warm cookies and spiced cider.
    So, yes, there were things she loved—but a place she loved?
    The answer seemed impossible. She’d never traveled much outside of Minnesota. Her life up until now had been composed of