Chapter Text
Kate’s eyes bob open sleepily as she slowly drifts toward consciousness.
But instead of reaching for her phone on the end table, she lets them close again, remaining suspended in that blissful space between sleeping and waking as she buries herself deeper beneath the warm duvet.
Warmer than she should have been, actually.
Her brow furrows as she realizes that something feels different.
Sleeves.
The weight of fabric gathered at her wrists.
The scent lingering faintly against the collar.
Absolutely not the high end silk lingerie she’s used to sleeping in.
She cracks one eye open before immediately closing it again.
Right.
Anthony’s sweatshirt.
She had fully intended not to wear it to bed.
She changed as soon as she got back to Agatha’s house, shedding the sweatpants and the oversized t-shirt.
She had folded them neatly and stacked them on the dresser so she could return them to him in the morning.
Or the afternoon.
Or at some point before she left Saltburn—it didn’t matter, the timing remained flexible.
The important thing was that they would, eventually, make their way back to Anthony.
But then, somewhere between brushing her teeth and sending Anthony a follow request on Instagram, the sweatshirt had…magicially…just appeared on her body.
It was chilly in Agatha’s house, Kate concluded. And sure, she could have adjusted the thermostat, but if this was how Agatha preferred it, she didn’t want to risk messing up any settings.
She rolls onto her side, pulling the sleeves over her hands, and her gaze shifting traitorously toward the sliding glass doors leading out to the patio.
She couldn’t help but wonder if Anthony was up yet.
Sitting on his balcony, drinking his coffee.
Or out on another run—glistening abs, rippling biceps.
She shakes her head.
Either way, she should go out to the deck.
For her cell signal, she rationalizes.
And so that Sophie would at least give her a bit of a pass on answering emails while on vacation if she was doing it with the ocean in the background.
She gets out of bed, and curls her toes on the plush carpet. She inhales the fresh ocean air as she rolls her shoulders and attempts to loosen the tension that seems to permanently live there.
It does little to help.
She snatches her phone and pads downstairs, turning on the coffee machine while muttering a prayer that she doesn’t offend it with whatever button she pressed yesterday.
She opens her email while the machine slowly starts to gurgle and pop to life, but Sophie’s work timeout is still in effect so she opens Instagram instead as she walks back up to the bedroom.
Anthony Bridgerton accepted your request.
She immediately taps on his name and watches as his profile loads before her.
She recognizes the interior of his beach house in several photos. Others are very clearly from other vacations—colder environments, tropical ones, a few of them with him and a surf board.
She stretches her neck as she continues scrolling.
Several pictures contain what Kate can only assume are other family members—the chestnut coloring in their hair and features so similar the only reasonable conclusion she can reach is that they are related.
Kate enters the bathroom, takes hold of her toothbrush and turns to look in the mirror.
Anthony’s sweatshirt consumes her.
She had never worn another guys’ clothes before. None of her relationships had ever really gotten to the point of clothes sharing, and if she was honest with herself, there hadn’t ever been anyone she was attached to enough to want to borrow their things.
But this sweatshirt was…different.
It was soft and worn in all the right places, and it smelled like Anthony—clean, something woodsy that she couldn’t quite place, all mixed with the faint smell of the sea that permeated everything here.
She pulls her hands into the sleeves and lets the warmth of it cocoon her one more time as she inhales deeply before taking it off.
Last night was different. Anthony Bridgerton was different than she expected. He was cocky and smug, just like she’s always known him to be, but he was also kind and funny, he listened. Truly listened. Though those were things Kate knew as well. He was kind and attentive during their night together those months ago. Funny as well. That was one thing that struck her when she replayed those moments, not only was it great sex, but it was fun. They laughed and bantered between kisses and thrusts. Yet another thing about Anthony Bridgerton that set him apart.
Generally speaking, Kate sees herself as a woman of routines. Structures. Stability. All things that aren’t synonyms with her career choice, but necessary. Her morning routine is constant. Wake up, make coffee, skin care, check emails over said coffee.
But she’s on vacation. So emails over coffee also happen out on the patio facing the ocean. They also happen with the potential of having a next door neighbor on their own ocean facing patio.
Kate looks down at the silk set she’s wearing. These are indoor clothes. But morning emails are going to be outdoors today. So outdoor clothes. But silk sets in the morning. Quite a predicament.
She turns to the closet, channeling her inner vacation Kate, and makes the decision before she has time to second guess it.
The extra silky set that she picks because it’s her favorite and not because she’s imagining the reaction it might get out of a certain next door neighbor.
And if she’s being forced to change out of Anthony’s sweatshirt—even if it is a self-imposed rule—then she should at least be allowed to trade one comfort for another, she rationalizes as she quickly changes into it before hopping back downstairs just long enough to pour the contents of the coffee pot into her mug.
Her eyes are locked on her phone as she climbs the stairs again—she’d have significantly stronger quads if this was her permanent housing arrangement, she realizes—and is already making a mental todo list of everything she needs to accomplish when her inbox unlocks in the next three minutes.
Kate nudges the door leading out to the porch and slips outside, her mug and phone in one hand with her laptop tucked under her arm.
She has to bite back a smile when she sees him, a pair of athletic shorts but no shirt, his feet propped along the railing of the deck, a mug of coffee in his hand and a book open on his lap.
Anthony, on the other hand, does little to hide his smile.
“Good morning,” he says, lifting his mug to her, and Kate wonders if it’s the summer sun or Anthony’s eyes that make her feel warm.
She shakes the thought from her head, as she positions the deck chair just slightly and tucks her feet under her.
“Good morning,” she says back as she flips the lid of her laptop and waits for the screen to turn on.
“How did you sleep?”
“Good,” Kate replies, as she starts triaging her inbox.
Anthony hums as Kate types out a response, but she can feel his eyes lingering on her.
“Yes?” she asks not looking up from the screen.
“Nothing. Just, you’re a very intense typer for someone on vacation.”
“Clients who want answers don’t care that someone is on vacation.”
“Are you the only one who can give those answers?”
“Of course not,” Kate scoffs, “my employees know everything I do.”
“So, maybe, just a thought, one of those employees can answer?”
Her fingers pause and she peers at him over the top of her computer. “Did Agatha call you?”
He huffs a laugh, “No. Just an observation I made all on my own.”
Kate takes the first sip of her coffee, and the only thought as it hits her tongue is that it’s catastrophically terrible. Her nose wrinkles as her lips curl downward while she forces herself to swallow it.
“Ugh!” she coughs, trying to rid herself of the taste.
Anthony barks a laugh, “That bad?”
“No, this is great, exactly how I like it. Burnt.”
Anthony hums, and gets up from his chair, walking back into his house. Confused, Kate turns back to her computer, instinctively reaching for the mug, before choosing to push it away.
She goes back to typing, Anthony’s words echoing in her ears. She could delegate. She did delegate. Regularly. Efficiently. But she also had a strict policy of not asking another employee to do something she wasn’t willing to do herself.
She drums her fingers against the keys once, before she redirects some of the emails back to Sophie. Sophie will be proud, she reasons, and she knows she’s capable and willing to take anything off Kate’s plate. She’s typing an email to Sophie when she hears a knock on the deck. She turns to find Anthony leaning against his toward hers, a mug in his hand, silently placing it on the banister.
Kate clears the lump she feels in her throat. “Thank you,” she says, surprising herself with the softness of her voice.
Anthony smiles and nods, and silently goes back to his chair and book.
Kate cradles the mug in her hands, letting the rich smell take over, and then she takes her first sip. She barely muffles a moan—no she doesn’t—she can’t, because the coffee is so good.
“Anthony,” Kate calls out, turning to him, “this is delicious.”
The smile she gets feels brighter than the sun above them.
Kate is reading the weekly report when she hears another knock on her deck.
She turns to find Anthony standing, his book closed in his hands, “I’m going into town to get a few things, do you need anything?”
“Oh um, what’s in town?”
“A variety of things. A plethora even. Might be easier if you came to see for yourself.”
Kate’s gaze dropped back to her computer in her lap.
Anthony must have read her expression. “Unless, you can’t.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Well,” Anthony nodded back to her computer. “You have those answers to send. And this would require you to be away from your inbox for the next few hours.”
Kate works her lip between her teeth. She’s never been one to stand down from a challenge, and that’s exactly what this is starting to sound like.
“I will need 20 minutes to get ready,” she says matter of factly.
“I’ll wait out front.”
Kate nods and closes her laptop, before standing up and walking back to the house.
“Will you be getting dressed or should I expect this?” She asks as she stops just at the sliding doors.
Anthony barks a laugh, “I’ll get dressed, but if you prefer this all you have to do is ask.”
She lets her eyes linger one more second before stepping into the house.
“Wear something comfortable!” he calls after her.
Twenty minutes later, Kate is walking up Anthony’s path just as he steps out the door, when her steps falter just slightly as her eyes sweep over the very obvious absence of a vehicle.
“Are we taking your car?” she asks, her eyes narrowing as her gaze slides back to Anthony.
Anthony doesn’t respond right away, which Kate automatically reads as an answer.
Instead, he pulls his arm from behind his back and produces a helmet—sleek, pink, entirely too casual for what it implies—and holds it out to her.
“Not quite.”
Kate stares at it, then at him. Then back at the helmet again.
“Absolutely not.”
His mouth twitches. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”
“I don’t need to see it,” she shoots back, crossing her arms. “If it requires me to wear this on my head, I’m not going.”
Anthony huffs a quiet laugh, stepping a little closer, still holding the helmet between them. “My sisters have tried it out, it won’t mess with your hair.”
“You think my biggest worry right now is that this is going to flatten my curls?” Kate asks, one brow raised.
“I think it’s probably in your top five,” Anthony smiles.
Kate’s eyes flick past him then, finally catching sight of the Vespa parked just beyond the hedges.
Bright. Compact. Completely ridiculous.
“Is this even legal?” Kate asks, stepping around him and over to the motorized scooter.
“Very.”
“And you’re licensed,” Kate asks, turning to him. “Or whatever requirements this…minature deathtrap requires to operate.”
“It’s not a deathtrap. I signed a contract saying I wouldn't buy one of those.”
“With who? Your mother?”
“Yes. My youngest sister was my witness. Ironically, she has her own contract now as well.”
Kate pauses, still contemplating.
“What if we walked?”
“We could. But then your inboxless hour will be up before we get there and then no ice cream for Katie.”
Kate’s lip works between her teeth, as she takes in the vehicle again. Another challenge. She can feel his gaze on her, waiting for her to back down. And she just can’t give him that satisfaction.
“Fine,” she says as she takes the helmet from his hands. “And don’t call me Katie.”
“Noted,” Anthony says with a smile as he takes his own helmet off the seat of the vehicle and puts it on.
Kate is still studying the Vespa when Anthony says, “You do actually have to put the helmet on your head.”
“I just think maybe we should circle back to the car option.”
Anthony takes a step toward her, “We’ve discussed this.”
“No,” Kate corrects him. “You informed me that this was our mode of transportation. That is not the same thing as a discussion.”
The corner of his mouth twitches as he says, “You’ll survive.”
“A bold claim for someone asking me to climb onto a motorized lawsuit.”
“Helmet.”
She sighs dramatically and puts it on her head, making a valiant attempt at securing the strap herself before Anthony gently catches her wrist.
“Hold still,” he says as his fingers work at the straps.
“I know how helmets work.”
“I’m sure you do.”
His fingers brush beneath her chin as he adjusts the clasp in a gesture that should have felt practical. Instead, all it leaves Kate focused on is how close Anthony Bridgerton is standing.
Close enough that she can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.
Close enough that she can smell his cologne.
Close enough that her pulse chooses an incredibly inconvenient time to make itself known.
“There,” he says quietly.
His hands linger for half a second before falling away.
Kate swallows the lump in her throat. “Great.”
Anthony smiles as he swings himself onto the Vespa with infuriating ease.
He looks entirely at home there, one hand resting casually on the handlebars as he glances back at her.
She doesn’t want to admit it, but even mid-panic, that look does things to her.
“Coming?” he asks.
She shakes her head, dispelling the thought. “If I die,” she says, climbing on behind him with considerably less grace than Anthony managed. “I’m going to haunt you.”
Anthony huffs a laugh. “Noted.”
The Vespa takes off with a small sputter of the motor and Kate lets a high-pitched shriek escape as she tightens her grip around Anthony.
She presses her face into his back, squeezing her eyes shut as her arms snake around his middle, anchoring her to him.
She can feel Anthony shift, glancing over his shoulder.
His hand reaches back and warm fingers settle lightly against her calf.
“Hey.”
Kate keeps her head buried between his shoulder blades.
His thumb rubs lightly along the line of her leg.
Not restraining, not teasing, simply steadying.
“Kate.”
Something about the way he says her name makes her look up at him.
“I’ve got you.”
Three simple words.
Nothing more.
And yet, something in her chest gives the faintest, strangest tug.
She isn’t used to relying on others for anything. But something about Anthony’s tone—or maybe it’s just something about Anthony in general—makes her believe it.
His hand squeezes once more before falling away.
“Anyway,” he calls over his shoulder. “I thought you said you liked intense?”
Kate swallows, her mind immediately betraying her and flashing back to that night six months ago—the memory arrives with startling clarity.
The hotel bar.
Two glasses of scotch.
The way he leaned against the bar with an infuriating ease.
I’m not afraid of intense.
Which had, admittedly, been moments before she dragged him back to his room.
The worst part wasn’t that she remembered, it was how easily he remembered too.
Six months later, and he was able to reach through time and pluck the memory out as though it had happened yesterday all with one little throwaway remark.
Kate tightens her arms around his waist before she can stop herself.
The motion feels less like holding on and more like something else entirely, although she absolutely refuses to let herself examine that while she’s in this position.
“Intense is not the same as idiotic,” she finally says as Anthony makes a turn, causing her to hold on to him even tighter. “Are you flexing your abs for me?” Kate asks.
Anthony barks a laugh, “It makes it easier for the turns, you enjoying them is a nice bonus.”
And she did enjoy them, even if she wasn’t enjoying this.
But here, with her arms wrapped around him, her head pressing into the solid muscles of his back, her knees bracing for leverage against his thighs—there was a lot of Anthony Bridgerton involved in this mode of transportation, and Kate was enjoying that perhaps a little too much.
He reaches a stop, and parks the Vespa, holding a hand up for Kate to grab as she attempts to get off of the vehicle.
“So, you survived,” he says as he takes the helmet from her, locking both in the under-seat compartment.
“Just barely.”
Anthony barks a laugh, “Come on.”
Kate lets Anthony lead her to a cafe nearby, opening the door for her. The sounds of a least half a dozen conversations hit Kate at once as she steps inside, the cool air-conditioning automatically contrasting the humid air outside.
Mismatched wooden tables that had been wiped down so many times, the varnish was beginning to wear thin at the corners were scattered around the space, and a chalkboard menu hung behind the counter so crowded with handwritten specials that Kate could barely make it out.
“Well it’s about time,” a petite older woman greets them.
“Mabel,” Anthony says, his smile wide, “is that the way to greet your favorite patron?”
The older woman begins shuffling from behind the counter, but Anthony quickly shifts to meet her halfway and wraps her in a hug.
“You’re not eating enough,” she said immediately.
“I’m eating plenty,” he assures her as he pulls away.
The woman’s eyes shift to Kate, a small smile curling on her lips.
“And who is this?” Mabel asks.
“This is Kate Sharma, CEO extraordinaire.” Anthony explains, “She’s staying at Agatha’s this week.”
“It’s nice to meet you Mabel,” Kate says, her hand reaching to shake Mabel’s.
“Kate Sharma,” she says, accepting her hand. “Fair warning, that now that we’re introduced next time’s greeting will be a hug. We only give one hand-shake to newcomers.”
Kate laughs, easier than she’s used to. “I’ll be ready.”
“What brings you to Saltburn?” she asks, shuffling back behind the counter.
“A coup,” Kate says lightly as she and Anthony step up to the counter.
Anthony barks a laugh. “She was…encouraged to stay at Agatha’s for the week,” he explains.
Mabel nods as if that clears up everything. “Well if it’s on Agatha’s orders, then you’d better be keeping a close eye on her.”
Anthony barks a laugh, “I’ll try my best.”
Mabel smirks and starts collecting products from behind the counter.
“Did you order ahead?” Kate asks Anthony.
“You don’t order here, you’re told what you’re purchasing.” Anthony explains.
Kate furrows her brow, watching the woman moving back and forth with surprising agility as she carefully arranges apparently random objects in the cloth bags.
“What if it’s not what you need?” Kate asks, her voice low at Anthony’s ear.
“It always has a way of working itself out in the end,” Anthony replies.
Kate lets that settle, tries to embrace a little bit of this easy-going nature that everyone else in this place seems to exude, but it feels so unnatural for her.
“Except for the one time she sent home a cinnamon raisin bread that had walnuts in it. Benedict’s allergic. Nothing some benadryl and his epi-pen couldn’t handle though.”
Kate laughs at that, shaking her head.
“Here,” Mabel hands them their tote bags, and two large to-go cups of iced tea, Anthony placing his phone on the payment terminal.
Kate takes her phone out to do the same, but Mabel waves her hand, “It’s on him. That way if there’s something you don’t like, you can blame him.”
“I was going to pay anyway,” Anthony assures.
She opens her mouth to argue, but Anthony turns to her. “I’d think better about arguing with Mabel.”
One raised brow from the woman confirms this much to Kate and she reluctantly swallows her words.
“It won’t kill you to let yourself be taken care of,” Mabel offers as one last piece of advice.
“Hmm,” Anthony hums knowingly. “It’s almost like someone else has suggested that to you recently.”
“Mabel,” Kate says turning back to her, “It was a pleasure to meet you, and this,” she gestures around her, “is a lovely cafe. But this,” she says motioning between the woman and Anthony. “I don’t love this.”
Mabel laughs, “Even a broken clock is right at least twice a day.”
“Hey!” Anthony says, feigning offense, “I don’t think that was a compliment.”
“It was nice to meet you, Kate Sharma. Come back soon.”
And as the two are walking out, they hear Mabel call out, “I put some dark chocolate brownies in there—it’s an aphrodisiac!”
The corners of Kate’s lips curl knowingly, “Oh,” she says lightly, letting one of her hands rest on Anthony’s chest. “He doesn’t need help in that department.”
She can feel the moment his pulse stutters under her palm, but she just continues smiling, gives Anthony’s chest a small pat, and moves past him out the door.
The rest of the morning passes more or less the same—Anthony guiding her in and out of small, locally owned shops along the main stretch of town.
The stationery shop proves dangerous. Colorful papers line the walls, and pens—so many pens that for a moment Kate thinks this must be heaven.
Kate pauses to admire a fountain pen displayed in a case, only to find Anthony buying it moments later.
“Here,” he says, handing her the bag.
“You did not have to buy that for me,” Kate protests. “I have a very high paying job. I can buy things—”
“Yourself,” Anthony finishes for her. “Trust me. I know. It looked lonely,” he shrugs. “If it makes you feel better, we can call it a late birthday present.”
But that does little to help the twisting sensation starting to coil in Kate’s stomach.”I thought we already agreed you gave me a birthday present?”
“No, I think you agreed for both of us,” he smiles. “Now, come on, there’s a bookstore next door that I think you’re really going to enjoy.”
He’s not wrong. She does thoroughly enjoy it.
They wander the aisles, Anthony occasionally putting his hand at the small of Kate’s back to point in the direction of a novel that catches his eye.
“I don’t need any more books,” she says finally after his third attempt to put a book in her hands.
“Blamphmy,” he replies, the crease between his brows so deep that Kate has to fight the urge to smooth over it with her thumb.
“I don’t,” she laughs. “I don’t have time to read back in the real world. Nothing outside of annual reports anyway. And Sophie sent me with a novel for the week.”
“What’s it about?” Anthony asks, as he pulls a hardback from the shelf and skims the back cover.
Kate tries to remember how Sophie described it, “Some weird Christmas ocean thing with Yetis who fall in love.”
“Hmm,” Anthony lifts his brows as if this is a completely normal sentence. “I’d read that.”
By the time they leave, Kate’s carrying two books, she absolutely didn’t intend to buy and Anthony is looking far too pleased with himself.
And somehow, between each stop, Anthony Bridgerton disappears only to reappear a moment later with food that Kate “has to try.”
There are warm sugared donuts he assures her are the best he’s ever tried, homemade fudge from a small sweets shop, a sausage roll that Kate might actually have dreams about from a bakery where every employee knows Anthony by name.
By noon, Kate suspects he’s developed a personal mission to ensure she never experiences hunger again.
She should find it ridiculous. She would have in the past or if it was anyone else.
But instead, she finds herself looking forward to discovering what he’ll produce next.
They laugh with one another but neither acknowledges the growing awareness humming beneath every conversation. And Kate doesn’t protest when Anthony’s hand finds the small of her back whenever crowds thicken, or how he guides her through doorways without thinking about it. More than once, she turns to discover him already watching for her reaction to something she’s tasted or read or pointed out in a shop window.
Little things.
The sort of things that should have meant nothing, but that Kate can’t seem to move past.
Anthony slides into a stop outside of Agatha’s house, Kate holding onto his shoulders to balance herself as her feet meet the ground.
“So, final thoughts on the motorized lawsuit?”
Kate hums as she takes off the helmet, “Not as big of a death trap as expected.”
Anthony chuckles, handing Kate the tote bag filled with everything she had bought, “I had fun today.”
Kate nods, “Yeah, I did too. I’m really glad you didn’t get us killed.”
“Me too,” Anthony confirms. “You’ve earned your emails”.
“What? Oh, yeah, those,” Kate says, she hadn’t thought about them for hours. She takes a step back, allowing Anthony the space to continue his ride.
“Enjoy your night,” Anthony says as he changes gears.
“Bye,” Kate says softly, but there’s a growing part of her that doesn’t quite want to let him go.
Kate is staring at her computer screen. 32 emails. But she can’t get herself to open them. Not even one.
She reaches for her phone, knowing that by now Sophie is at home doing her meal prep for the week, and calls.
“Hellooooooo,” Sophie answers.
“Hey”
“Hey? Just hey? That doesn’t sound like someone on vacation.”
Kate chuckles, “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”
“What have you been up to?”
“We drove down to the town. Got a few trinkets at this adorable stationary store, and there’s this bakery, Soph you won’t believe the owner”.
“Who’s we?”
“What?”
“You said we drove down. Who did you drive with?”
Kate pauses. She hadn’t even noticed.
“Kate? You there?”
“Yeah, yeah. Um Anthony Bridgerton, he owns the place next to Agatha’s.”
“Anthony Bridgerton,” Sophie says slowly. “So yesterday, when you hung up on me?”
“I saw him running up from the beach. Very shirtless.”
“Hot?”
Kate groans, “Oh, so very hot.”
“Hotter than Mr. Sex?”
Kate pauses, and Sophie continues, “No! He’s hotter?”
“He’s exactly as hot.”
“Exactly as hot? Wait–” there’s a pause. “You slept with Anthony Bridgerton!”
“Happy birthday to me?”
“I love this for you”
Kate snorts, “Well we spent the whole day together and nothing happened.”
“So? Make it happen if that’s what you want. You decide.”
Kate wanders into her kitchen, the box of brownies on the counter, “Are you running the staff meeting tomorrow?”
“Smooth,” Sophie notes. “Yes.”
“Can you call me after? Just so I know how it went? I promise to not answer one email tomorrow if you do.”
Sophie laughs, “You know what? Sure.”
“Thank you Sophie.”
“Good night.”
“Night,” Kate says, hanging up the call.
She taps on the box of brownies, before looking out her windows toward Anthony’s, the lights still on.
Sophie’s words rang in her ears make it happen if that’s what you want.
Kate Sharma didn’t do indecision. Her career was built on her ability to act quickly and in the best interest of every party involved. Her livelihood was based on the fact that she could look at a problem and have an itemized list of steps to correct it. Doubting herself was simply not an option.
So why was she doing it now?
And why was she doing it in regards to Anthony Bridgerton?
Because Anthony’s different, a traitorous voice whispers in her head. But he’s not. He’s just a guy.
A guy she spent the majority of the day wanting to be close to when most others she preferred to keep at arms’ length.
She drums her fingers on the box one last time before grabbing the brownies and the house keys, and walking out the door.
Before she even realizes she’s stopped moving, she’s knocking on the door frantically. Anthony opens it, her fist still in the air.
“Is the shower acting up again?”
“Why haven’t you kissed me?” The words tumble out in a heap that leave Kate a little breathless.
Anthony almost chokes, “excuse me?”
“All day, all of this,” Kate gestures around her, and she realizes for a moment that she likely looks a little concerning. “Why haven’t you kissed me?”
Anthony looks taken back, like he’s still trying to process that Kate’s standing on his front porch. “I—I don’t have an answer.”
“Well either think of one or just—” Kate says, but she’s cut off by Anthony’s lips on hers.