Mariah

Jackson’s mouth was warm.

Too warm.

The kind of warm that made my brain forget how to form full sentences, like every thought I’d had before this moment was suddenly irrelevant.

Outside, the wind was throwing snow at the windows like it had a personal vendetta. The streetlights made the storm glow white and frantic, and every few seconds a gust would slam into the house hard enough to make the glass shiver.

Inside, everything felt small in the best way.

The living ...