Grace
I’ve been home for hours, but my brain is apparently still loitering under that festival tent like an i***t.
Honestly, it’s a miracle I didn’t combust on the spot because the second Dawson leaned in—really leaned in—my entire soul short-circuited. I’m pretty sure I blacked out for a full two seconds while staring at his lips.
And now here I am, wearing fuzzy socks with snowmen on them, pacing my bedroom, replaying the moment on a loop.
Every detail.
Every breath.
Every millimeter separating his mouth from mine.
And that was the problem.
I could feel it — the exact amount of space between us, and the way the air had shifted. The way my body had gone still, like it somehow knew something important was about to happen and didn’t want to scare it off.
His breath had brushed my c
