"Charlotte," he said, voice lower, steadier, "I meant what I said. I want this. I want you. May I kiss you?"
She didn't move. Not at first. Then, slowly, deliberately, she lifted her index finger and placed it lightly on his lips. Her touch was featherlight, almost reverent. Her gaze softened—not teasing now, but intense. Dreamlike.
"You know how long I've wanted these lips?" she whispered, voice barely audible. "I've kissed them in my dreams, in my head, in every imaginary argument where I finally got the last word. I've cursed them, missed them, wished them mine."
He leaned in, heart racing, eyes closing. She was still so close. Her finger remained against his lips. He was certain this was it.
Then—
Thud.
His chest met gentle resistance as she pressed her hand against it, pushing him back with quiet finality.
"Want to kiss me?" she said, voice suddenly bright again, like someone snapping out of a trance. "No."
Alexander blinked. Once. Twice. "No?"
