He snorts and pushes my hair behind my ear. “Night, Flora.” I go up one brick step, my fingers lightly trailing the railing beside me, cheeks warm and entirely thankful for the moonlit night hiding my blush. “Night, Fletcher.” I am about to go up another step, but from one moment to the next—like lightning hitting the ground in a crack—he’s there. Fingers curling around my arm, I’m pulled back to face the street. Suddenly, there are hands on either side of my face, thumbs digging in my jaw, and his mouth on mine.
