Kit had a previously scheduled trip to Scotland with the Queen and Prince Carlton, so I was on my own for the next couple days.

I buried myself in work. With that first payment sitting pretty in EP Design’s bank account, I paid off all our credit cards (big relief) and began to work on the Pearce project (big opportunity). For the first time in what felt like forever, I was actually excited to sit down at my computer. Even invoices seemed fun after the special hell that the past two years had been for us. Aly and I were so giddy we spent an entire day giggling over brass samples. Brass samples.

We truly were back in business.

Work had always taken my mind off things. Probably why I’d thrown myself into it head first after Kit left for Scotland. But despite being super busy, I still found myself thinking about him. All. The. Time. The feel of his mouth on mine. The pain I’d seen in his eyes when I’d asked him to be honest with me. What had he been about to say? I’d been something of an open book so far. But Kit played his cards close to the vest.

I got why. Was it wrong to ask him to show me his hand? We’d been friends once, although those mornings in section felt like a zillion years ago. I still cared about him as a friend. I needed to nip these feelings in the bud, I knew, but—

“You kissed him, didn’t you?”

My head snapped up. I met Aly’s eyes over our laptop screens.

“You’re about to play dumb,” she continued. “Don’t. Tell me everything. Where. When. The amount of tongue involved.”

I don’t know why Aly’s sixth sense for my love life still surprised me after all these years. But it did.

I brought my coffee cup to my lips—like everything this family owned, it was stamped with their crest—and took a long, scalding gulp. We were in Kit’s living room at Primrose. Aly and I had set up shop on a large Queen Anne table in the corner. It was my favorite room in the whole palace. The light it got in the mornings was great, and the view of the sunken garden couldn’t be beat.

My heart started to pound as I remembered the kiss. That’s what it was now. Not just a kiss, or one kiss, or that kiss. The kiss.

“It was good, Aly. So fucking good. And it wasn’t us just acting on sexual attraction. There was definitely some of that, don’t get me wrong. But I guess I hadn’t realized how great we got along back in college until we started getting along again now. If that makes sense. It’s like…the connection, it’s there, it was automatic. I feel safe with him. Which is stupid, because he could crush me. Physically and emotionally. But he’s kind, and he likes bourbon, and he smells really good…”

Aly tilted her head, studying my face. “You like him.”

The words were like a sock to the gut.

Shit. I did. I liked Kit.

I’d known it deep down. But I hadn’t wanted to admit it. It’d been less than two weeks. I was damaged goods. He was off limits. This was a dangerous game we were playing. It did not have a happy ending. It couldn’t.

“What are you gonna do?” Aly asked.

I blinked back the moisture that had suddenly appeared in my eyes. I looked away. Took another sip of coffee.

“I don’t know.” I met Aly’s gaze. “But he’s a good guy, Aly. Better than Luke, that’s for sure.”

“That’s not saying much. Literally every guy is better than Luke.”

I picked my phone up off the table. “Speaking of. He sent me another text.”

Her eyes went wide. “Stop it. He’s a dick to the bitter end, isn’t he?”

“Yup.” I scrolled through my texts, holding up the phone when I found it. “Look, here it is. ‘I’m sorry to keep bothering you, but I am so worried about you. Call when you get a chance. Hope all is well’. I mean, what the hell? We haven’t spoken without a mediator in years.”

Aly shook her head. “So weird. What do you think he wants?”

I shrugged. Knowing Luke, he either wanted to put me back in my place—i.e., under his thumb—or he wanted his fifteen minutes of fame. He was just shameless enough to hit me up for a favor now that I wasn’t destitute and alone.

“Who knows.” I put down my phone. “Fuck him.”

“Fuck him for life.” Aly’s eyes narrowed. “Are you okay, though? Hearing from him like this?”

I thought about it for a second.

“I am.” I meant it. A month ago? Maybe not. I’d hated Luke throughout our divorce. But I was still in love with him for some of it, too. We’d been together for nine years. You didn’t just go from loving a person one day to not loving them the next, even when you found out they’d cheated on you. There were times after I’d left him when all I wanted was a text, a call. Something to let me know I wasn’t alone in my misery.

I hadn’t loved Luke for a long time. But some sick, sad, jealous part of me had still wanted to hear from him. I’d wanted him to send me the “I-made-a-terrible-mistake-take-me-back” text, just so I could have the satisfaction of shooting him down. I’d spent whole weeks fantasizing about what my reply would be.

Now, though? Now the only person I wanted to hear from was Kit Thorne.

* * *

Right on cue, Kit sent me a text later that night.

I was in bed, pretending to read a biography of Queen Victoria when really I was thinking about Kit.

When my phone pinged on the bedside table, I’d thought it was Aly. The Pearce project was huge in every aspect—scale, budget, importance—and I knew she was drawing up some ideas tonight.

When I saw that it was Kit Thorne, my heart pinged, too. A perfect echo. He’d sent a video. His caption: What would you call this move? Since you are the dancing expert…

I was smiling like an idiot even before I hit play on the video. It was Kit in a kilt—say that three times fast—and he was on a stage, obviously at one of his engagements. He was trying to keep up with the men beside him, also in kilts, as they whizzed through an elaborate dance routine. The Georgia girl in me would call it “Scottish line dancing”. It was so cool.

Kit was messing it up so hard.

I laughed. And laughed. Kit’s expression—the half horrified, half amused smile he wore—was priceless. The camera shook. Whoever was taking the video was laughing just as hard as I was. It sounded a lot like Rob.

I tried not to read too much into the fact that Kit had sent me a text. Which meant he was thinking about me. So what?

Hm. I’d call that the rabid deer, I texted back. Or the armless knight.

My heart lit up like a light bulb when I saw the three dots pop up at the bottom of the conversation.

Armless knight? he texted.

From Monty Python. The knight who gets all his limbs chopped off but still insists he could kick your ass.

The black knight! Yes!

You know when Arthur chops off his arms, and the knight keeps trying to kick him? And then Arthur chops off his leg? That’s what you look like up there.

Like a bleeding idiot in other words. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Miss Kilpatrick.

I was smiling so hard my face hurt.

But Mr. Thorne, you’re the handsomest man in the room. You don’t need my vote.

A pause. Then, from him: I don’t. But maybe I want it anyway.

I bit my lip. He was flirting now. Being cute. Sweet. Did I flirt back? Yes. No. Yes?

No. Ugh. Best to play it safe.

How’s Scotland?

Good. In Edinburgh now. Ever been? I think you’d like it. People very friendly. Brown liquor not bad either. Wish you were here to share a glass. Or four.

My pulse skipped. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Kit was not playing it safe. I loved it. Which was exactly why I shouldn’t respond. I knew where this road led.

But I’d made Kit promise to be honest with me. Which meant I had to be honest with him. Right?

Right.

I wish that too, I typed. Then I sent it before I could delete it.

When I get back, he responded, let’s grab a pint, yeah? There’s this great little pub down the street. The Rose & Thorn. No, not named after us. Although that would be cool.

I smiled, rolling my eyes as I typed, Cool your jets, highness. Half this city is named after you.

Fair point. It’s my favorite pub. Not fancy, just perfect. I want to take you there. You like pubs?

Did I like pubs. What a question.

One of my favorite things about this kingdom of yours. I love a good pub.

Of course you do, he replied.

I furrowed my brow. What does that mean? I texted back.

The three dots appeared. Went away. Came back. Shit, had I struck a nerve? I was suddenly desperate for this conversation to keep going.

The whole universe contracted to fit inside those three little dots as I waited. And waited.