you kissing me again would be nice.”
He laughed at the fact that she’d dare to say that, and yet he wasn’t all that surprised. She was, after all, Tasha.
And of course, she wasn’t done, “But I suspect it’s not a priority.”
“Good guess.” Thomas nodded, spurred into action—first double-checking that the door absolutely was secure. If the hostiles breached the hatch—when they breached the hatch—they’d still have to get through this door.
It was as close to impenetrable as a door could be—designed to withstand a nuclear blast—but there were other ways to get inside of a locked bomb shelter.
Jesus, he had to get out of this raincoat. And he had to get Tash showered and her wounds bandaged—as quickly as possible, while they still had running water.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said as he peeled the raincoat off his arms. God, his sweat plus the debris from the ashes and charred wood was nasty.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, too,” she countered. “How are you covered with... Is that soot?”
“Long story,” he said.
“Please tell me it involves a secret portal to a magical dimension where you found gainful employment as a singing-and-dancing chimney sweep.”
He laughed again. “Sadly, no. Do you need help in the shower?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Do I?” She tried to look over her shoulder at the gash on her arm, but she still couldn’t see it. “Do I need stitches? Can I get this wet?”
She went into the bathroom to look in the mirror, and he followed to stand in the door.
“No stitches,” Thomas said. “It’s a gash. Think of it as a bad scrape. It’ll hurt under the water, and the soap will sting, but that’s the best way to do it. Make sure you wash your knees, too. And do an inventory, see if you’ve got any other injuries we missed.”
She winced as she looked down at her knees. “I think I might need help with that.” She realized what that sounded like and immediately backpedaled. “That wasn’t... I wasn’t trying to be like, Why, yes, I do need help in the shower, handsome pizza delivery man.” She shook her head. “No.”
He laughed. “Tash, we need to talk, but—” not right now. She didn’t let him finish.
“Please, please don’t say that kissing me was a mistake,” she said.
“I won’t,” he promised. “Because... it wasn’t. It was... scary, yeah, but...” He cleared his throat. “It was very intentional.”
Both hope and tears flared in her eyes, and the smile she gave him was tremulous. “Okay, so this is gonna sound contrived, but you really can’t say that to me and then not kiss me again.”
Thomas crossed toward her, and careful only to touch her on the chin to turn her face up to his, he kissed her.
She closed her eyes but she didn’t lean in. She didn’t drop her jacket. She didn’t move. She just brushed her soft lips against his.
And God, she was so sweet.
He made himself step back. “We’ve got things to do before we use the shower to do more than...” He cleared his throat. “Shower. But it’s not just that. It’s... me. Tash, I need time. I need to take this slowly. I hope that’s okay.”
She was holding onto her jacket with both arms as she nodded up at him. “God, yes,” she said. “It’s very okay. It’s absolutely okay. Take all the time you need.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But I can’t say the same to you. Take a shower, and do it fast. When the power goes out, we’ll lose our water. So go. Now.”
He headed back out the door. And as he closed it behind him, he heard Tasha say, “Wait, what? The power’s going out...?”
“Shower,” he told her. “Now.” And he went into the kitchen to fill the sink and every container he could find with water from the tap.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The lights were all still on as Tasha finished drying herself and pulled on her bathrobe.
Thomas must’ve heard the water shut off, because he spoke through the bathroom door. “Let me in as soon as you’re decent.”
“I’m always decent,” she’d told him, opening the door.
Thomas was standing right there, waiting, wearing only those pajama pants and the soot from his as-yet-untold long story, the first-aid kit in his hands.
Tasha’s heart flipped as she met his steady gaze. He’d kissed her. Intentionally. It still seemed surreal.
He stepped forward, and she moved back so he could come into the still-steamy bathroom.
“I meant dressed,” he corrected himself as he set down