Chapter Ten "Where You Feel Most Alive"

Braemar's summer festival arrived in a rush of color and music. Eleanor had heard of such things, but she'd never been part of one—not like this. Not without corsets or stiff manners, not without the watchful eyes of a hundred disapproving faces.

Here, there was laughter. And food that tasted like home. And music that made her feet itch to move.

Callum stood beside her as they watched the dancers. He said nothing, but she could feel his gaze more than the sun on her skin. Finally, she tugged his hand. "Dance with me."

He shook his head, a ghost of a grin on his lips. "I don't dance."

"You do now," she said.

And she pulled him forward.

They were clumsy at first. His boots scuffed hers; she nearly tripped on the hem of her dress. But it didn't matter. Because he was laughing. She was laughing. And soon, they found their rhythm. His hand firm at her waist. Her fingers tightening around his.

They spun in circles until she was breathless, until her cheeks were flushed and his hair was damp with sweat. And when the music slowed, his arms slid around her without thinking. Her hands rested at his shoulders, and she tilted her face toward his.

"I like you this way," she murmured.

"What way?"

"Alive," she said.

His forehead rested against hers. "That's what you do to me."

And when his lips found hers, soft but sure, it felt like the moment she had crossed some invisible line—between before and after. Between longing and belonging.