Chapter Text
Dumbledore paced up and down his office, pondering on the issue he’d been wrestling with for the last several years – where had Harry Potter gone? Despite a year-long manhunt, there hadn’t been a single sighting. The resources of the entire Ministry, and Dumbledore’s not-inconsiderable network of contacts, have come up with absolutely nothing.
If he was honest with himself, Dumbledore had severely underestimated Harry’s capabilities. In retrospect, that was rather foolish. Harry’s parents were both very talented magically, so it made sense that he would be too. On top of that, despite his appearance, Harry was an adult wizard. He would know a lot more than a Hogwarts student. Dumbledore’s biggest mistake, however, was to give no thought to what profession Harry might have followed as an adult. It was obvious, once he did – Harry would have become an Auror.
Dumbledore could have kicked himself. He wasn’t dealing with an ordinary escaped convict he was dealing with a trained Auror! Quite possibly Harry had risen to be Head of the Auror Office, or even the DMLE itself. It was even possible that Harry had become Minister for Magic, after defeating Voldemort. Once Dumbledore factored that into his thinking, he realised he’d made a very grave error. Harry would know exactly how to evade capture. Also, his knowledge of the past, and Dumbledore in particular, would give him a huge advantage in anticipating Dumbledore’s moves.
Despite all of that, Dumbledore had been confident that he would be able to locate Harry. Several of the curious devices in his office could be turned to the task of finding someone or something that wanted to remain hidden. And yet, they hadn’t worked. Dumbledore had even resorted to modifying the location finding properties of the Deluminator to look for Harry, to no avail. His next idea had been to place a tracking charm on the white owl that delivered Miss Granger’s birthday presents every year. That didn’t work either. The owl flew to Grimmauld Place in central London, and then vanished. Nothing Dumbledore did could uncover any trace of the owl after that.
The most likely explanation was that one of the houses in the square had been placed under a Fidelius Charm. Sure enough, a brief inspection of the square revealed that number 12 was missing. This did not help Dumbledore very much though. He asked Mundungus Fletcher and a few of the other former Order members to keep an eye on the spot where number 12 should be, but it was hard to do that twenty-four hours a day, and they couldn’t watch the front and the back at the same time without doubling the necessary resources. Several months of observation produced not a single sighting.
Dumbledore wasn’t surprised. His hopes that Harry would remain in the UK had been dashed when he received the letter stating that Harry was ‘done with him’. Most likely, Harry just used the property at Grimmauld Place to portkey into the UK, send the owl, then portkey back to wherever he came from. No doubt that location would also be concealed under a Fidelius, which would explain why Dumbledore’s devices could never find him.
Dumbledore’s only realistic chance of finding Harry would be to follow someone who had Harry’s trust. As far as Dumbledore could tell, there was only one such person – Hermione Granger. Dumbledore had therefore begun planning, in great detail, how he would track Miss Granger when she graduated from Hogwarts at the end of her forthcoming final year. That gave him nine months to make sure his plan was completely water-tight.
Miss Granger had of course been named Head Girl. There was no question, really. She was the most accomplished witch the school had seen for centuries. Her academic record was beyond exemplary, her disciplinary record didn’t have a single entry, she had published more academic papers than most of the professors, and she was well-liked by everyone in the school (except the Slytherins of course, and a few disgruntled Ravenclaws). Miss Granger had chosen to take seven NEWTS instead of the usual three, and Dumbledore was confident that she would obtain an ‘Outstanding’ in all of them with dismissive ease.
The Headmaster returned to his seat and began making notes. It was just before midnight on the 31st July; school would resume in a month. That gave him plenty of time to adjust his devices, and when Miss Granger attended her first meeting in his office they would re-calibrate to track her instead of Harry. Dumbledore was actually quite excited at the prospect of pitching his intellect against a worthy opponent once again. Harry Potter had eluded him thus far, but nine months from now he was confident that Miss Granger would lead him straight to Harry. The fact that today would have been Harry's 17th birthday hadn't entirely escaped his notice, but it was of no importance. The blood protection on Privet Drive had long since collapsed, and the Improper Use of Magic Office hadn’t detected a single instance of Harry performing underage magic.
- § -
At that exact moment four thousand miles and four time-zones away, a tall man weaved his way through a crowded tiki bar, a tray of drinks balanced expertly on one hand. Despite the warm evening, he was dressed in an old-fashioned but very stylish three-piece suit complete with pocket-watch and chain. He sported shoulder-length curly brown hair and a well-groomed goatee. His age was rather hard to judge, but most would probably guess early thirties. Despite being somewhat older than the heaving mass of dancing and chatting twenty-somethings, the man drew appraising looks from every woman he passed, and a good number of the men.
“Here we go,” he said as he put the tray down in front of two other men – one around his age wearing a tatty beige suit and the other much younger wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
They were seated at a table in the corner. A colourful banner hung over their heads with “Happy 17th Birthday James” written across it. The older of the two eyed the pale yellow drinks with disapproval.
“Padfoot, you do know that the legal drinking age is eighteen in the Bahamas?”
Sirius gave him a withering look, “Need some help pulling that stick out of your butt, Moony? Nobody cares about the legal drinking age here, and according to our traditions young... ‘James’ here is now an adult.”
Harry leaned forwards and whispered urgently, “Thanks Padfoot... I mean Dad... but Moony is right. We don’t want to get into any trouble or draw attention to ourselves.”
Sirius glanced from Harry to Remus and back to Harry, “Seriously? How many years have we been coming to this bar? Everyone here knows it’s your seventeenth birthday you prat. Even if they didn’t, there is literally a sign above your head.” He turned to face the crowd and began shouting, “Hey everyone look! Look! He’s an underage drinker! He’s only seventeen! Someone call the cops!”
The music died and silence fell rapidly over the entire bar. A hundred faces turned to stare disapprovingly at Harry. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Harry hunched his shoulders and shrank down into his chair.
Abruptly, Lucas the barman guffawed loudly. The crowd immediately followed, laughing raucously at Harry’s expense. The music restarted and everyone turned away to resume their conversations. The bar was soon deafening once again.
Remus glared at Sirius, “Did you pay them to do that?”
Sirius’s face was a picture of innocence, “How could I possibly have known that you two would be total girls’ blouses about him drinking in public? Anyway, today is your ‘seventeenth’ birthday ‘James’ and we are going to celebrate that properly.”
Remus sighed, “Could you stop making air quotes whenever you say ‘James’ or ‘seventeen’! It’s a bit of a giveaway.”
Sirius made a W shape with his fingers, “Whatever, Grandma.”
Harry groaned and rolled his eyes, “I hate you two; you know that? Where are you picking this stuff up, Dad?”
“I’ve been learning to speak muggle,” Sirius replied with a grin.
Remus and Harry both groaned.
“What?” replied Sirius, looking baffled.
“Stop using the word muggle!” whispered Harry. “What are these drinks anyway?”
Sirius beamed, “It’s a local specialty called a Painkiller; try it.”
Harry picked one up and examined it suspiciously, “What’s in it?”
Sirius shrugged, “Rum, pineapple juice, coconut juice and orange juice.”
Harry took a swig and immediately choked, coughing violently.
Sirius slapped him roughly on the back, “Okay, it’s almost entirely rum.”
“You know,” said Harry ten minutes later, “this drink isn’t so bad once your mouth has gone numb.”
Sirius grinned, “That’s the spirit. So H... I mean James, is there any chance of you actually talking to any of these lovely ladies tonight?”
Harry glanced at the room full of gorgeous young women and shook his head, “I don’t have very much in common with twenty-somethings.”
“Because you’re only seventeen, you mean?” Sirius replied with a cheeky smile.
“Ha ha, you’re hilarious.”
“Well I have no problem talking to them,” Sirius objected, “and I’m almost as old as you. Even Moony had a go and he’s practically a monk.”
Remus scowled at Sirius but didn’t deny it.
“What about Maxine,” Sirius suggested, “she’s a lovely girl!”
“Maxine?” Harry replied in horror, “the same Maxine that you dated three months ago? That Maxine?”
Sirius cocked his head to one side, “Did I? Oh, wait, you’re right I did! Okay, maybe not her then. How about...” He craned his neck and began casting his gaze around the room.
Remus leaned forward and whispered in Harry’s ear, “A galleon says he can’t find a single woman he hasn’t slept with.”
“I heard that!” Sirius complained indignantly. “How about... erm... how about... Morgana’s saggy left pap, there must be someone... Yes! There! Her – that girl who just walked in. How about her? She looks erm... quite nice.”
Harry and Remus both looked over towards the door. Sure enough, a woman had just walked in. She looked about twenty one, with long black hair down to the small of her back, a plain but kind face, and a mischievous smile that seemed to light up the room. She stopped by the door and took in the scene before her. Harry watched in fascination as her eyes flicked from one thing to the next, seeming to take in every detail. Her gaze passed over Harry and his companions, lingering briefly at their odd clothing, before moving on. Apparently she found nothing of any particular interest at their table. Once her inspection was complete, she seemed to deliberate for half a second before proceeding to the bar.
Harry watched her closely. She was dressed like a tourist on a night out – her white summer dress was complemented by a pale pink handbag with matching heels and a shawl over her shoulders. She wasn’t the most beautiful girl in the room, but she carried herself with confidence and poise, conveying a level of maturity and sophistication far beyond her years. Harry was out of his chair and half way across the room before he realised what he was doing. By the time he arrived at the bar, she was already perusing the cocktail menu.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
Her eyes rose from the menu to look into his. They were a beautiful deep brown, like mahogany. He suddenly felt like he was being judged – every detail catalogued, analysed and appraised. For some reason he felt profoundly self-conscious. Her gaze flicked from him to the banner above the table he’d come from and back again. Harry cringed.
The woman smiled wryly, “How can I refuse on your birthday?”
She hadn’t mentioned the 17 bit, but Harry had the distinct impression he was being humoured. He flushed in embarrassment, certain that Sirius and Remus were falling over themselves behind him, laughing at his expense. There was absolutely no way he was going to turn round to find out though. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
“What would you recommend?” the woman asked sweetly. Harry got a whiff of her perfume. She smelled like spring flowers.
“Well,” Harry answered without thinking, “that depends on whether you want to be able to feel your face afterwards.”
The woman raised an elegant eyebrow, “Let’s assume that I do.”
Harry could have kicked himself. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He was behaving like a clumsy teenager!
“Er, right. Yes, of course.” Harry turned to find the waiting barman, “One Bahama Mama please Lucas.”
“You got it,” the man replied with a smirk, eying the two of them. Harry brought out his wallet but the barman waved it away. “Your Dad’s running a tab.”
Harry cringed again. Damn it! He may as well give up now. There was no way this woman would be interested in a seventeen year old kid out with his Dad. Lucas placed a tall sunset-coloured drink in front of the woman and strolled away laughing. Harry had to restrain himself from casting a bat bogey hex on the git.
“Thank you James,” the woman said, taking the drink in two hands and sipping through the straw delicately.
“How did you know my name?” he asked.
She pointed at the banner. Harry closed his eyes in mortification. Of course! It said ‘Happy 17th Birthday James’. He felt like such an idiot. The woman smiled indulgently and took another sip of her drink.
“This is delicious,” she told him. “I’m Rose. It’s nice to meet you James.”
Harry was convinced that he’d ruined his chances, and was all set to retreat in humiliated defeat, but her tone was so genuinely friendly that he was encouraged to keep going. Her accent was clearly American, but quite soft.
“Nice to meet you too, Rose. So what brings you to our little corner of paradise?”
“I’m on a gap year, travelling the world.”
“On your own?” Harry asked, before realising how that would sound.
Rose looked at him coyly through her eyelashes, “Are you asking if I have a boyfriend, James?”
“What? No!” Harry protested.
“Oh, so you don’t care if I have a boyfriend?” she replied. “That seems rather immoral...”
“No, that’s not what I... I wasn’t... I just meant that it’s quite dangerous to be travelling on your own.”
Rose laughed prettily, “I can look after myself, James, but thank you for your concern.”
Harry was floundering quite badly here, which was ridiculous. Rose was half his real age! Somehow it didn’t feel that way though. If anything, Harry felt like the young and inexperienced one. She was clearly mocking him. Maybe he’d been in this child’s body for so long it was rubbing off on him? Still, if Rose thought she was safe travelling the Bahamas on her own she was completely deluded. The Caribbean was not a safe place for a solo female traveller.
“Aren’t you drinking?” she queried.
“Oh yes, my drink’s over there.”
Harry pointed vaguely towards his table and immediately regretted it.
Sirius was waving and shouting, “James, over here. Introduce us to your friend!”
“Oh crap,” Harry muttered.
“I think your friends would like us to join them,” Rose noted, apparently finding Harry’s discomfort quite amusing.
“They’re not my friends,” Harry muttered, turning his back on them, “they’re just a couple of stray mutts I can’t seem to shake.”
Rose was quite a lot shorter than Harry. He guessed she was around five foot five. In his previous life he’d been about that height himself thanks to the malnutrition he’d suffered at the hands of the Dursleys, and the lack of decent healthcare provided by Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey was great at fixing bones and reversing hexes, but she had never made any effort to address health issues that arose outside of school. Harry wasn’t sure why. She was a nice enough woman so he assumed it must be something cultural – maybe it just never occurred to her, or she thought it was none of her business?
Once Harry had escaped from Azkaban and left the UK, he’d sought out the treatment he needed. He was now close to five foot ten, which he felt was a much more respectable height, not least because he was now taller than most girls. It wasn’t doing him any favours right now though. In this crowded bar Rose had to stand quite close, which meant that she had to look up at him through her eyelashes. He was finding it tremendously distracting. Also, the confused look she was giving him right now was making something do back-flips inside his chest.
An arm landed heavily across his shoulders, just as Sirius’ face appeared between him and Rose.
“Who’s your friend, James?” Sirius asked, eyeing Rose up and down.
“Get lost, Padfoot,” Harry replied in irritation.
Sirius grinned at him, “Is that any way to talk to your dear old Dad?” He held out his hand to Rose. “Hello, I’m James’s father. My friends call me Padfoot.”
Rose was momentarily at a loss, but then smiled and took the offered hand. Sirius surprised her by bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it. Harry gagged loudly.
“Pleasure,” Rose said with an amused glint in her eye.
“You must join us,” Sirius told her. Without waiting for an answer he put his other arm around Rose’s shoulder and steered the pair of them towards the table. Remus was watching the whole thing with a resigned look on his face.
Sirius pulled out a chair for Rose, who lowered herself gracefully into it. Remus was to her right and Sirius grabbed the chair to her left. Harry scowled and took the remaining seat opposite, furthest away from Rose.
“Would you do the introductions, James?” Sirius requested.
Harry huffed in annoyance, but complied, “Sure. Rose, please allow me to introduce my Uncle Moony and the sad reprobate who calls himself my father. Moony, Padfoot, this is Rose.”
“Rose! What a lovely name,” Sirius remarked. “James’s mother’s family had a tradition of naming the girls after flowers, didn’t they James?”
“Apparently,” Harry answered grudgingly.
“Your wife, you mean?” Rose asked Sirius.
Remus choked on his drink, spilling it down his front. Sirius glanced at Harry, who was boring holes into him with his eyes.
With an intensely uncomfortable expression, Sirius replied, “Well she’s no longer with us, unfortunately, but um... yes, James’s mother would of course be my um... wife.”
Harry kicked Sirius under the table; hard. Sirius emitted a strained squeak and his smile faltered briefly, but he managed to cover it reasonably well. Remus stifled a laugh by pretending to cough.
Rose didn’t seem to notice. “I’m so sorry,” she replied in sympathy. “I didn’t realise.”
“It’s not your fault my dear,” Sirius waved away her concern. “It was a long time ago.”
“Is that an East Coast accent?” Remus asked, in a transparent attempt to change the subject. “One of the New England states, perhaps?”
“Yes, I grew up in Vermont.”
Remus sat forward a little, “That’s a lovely State. Where did you go to high school, if I might ask?”
“Oh it was a very small girls’ school in Massachusetts. I’m sure you won’t have heard of it.”
Remus gave her a pointed look, clearly inviting Rose to say more. Rose simply smiled at him and took another sip of her drink.
Harry glared a warning at Remus. Why was he being so weird? “Where have you been so far on your world tour?” Harry asked in a bid to head off any further interrogation from Remus.
“This is my first stop. My plan is to see the Caribbean, then South America, Hawaii, New Zealand, Australia, Asia, and Europe. I’ve never left the States before so it’s rather exciting. You’re all Australian, aren’t you?”
“No we’re not Australian!” Sirius roared in outrage. “Why do Americans always think we’re bloody Australian? We sound nothing like Australians!”
Rose had covered her mouth with her hand but her shaking shoulders betrayed her.
Remus grinned, “I think Rose is winding us up, Padfoot. Most Americans can’t tell the difference between English and Australian accents, just like we can’t tell the difference between Americans and Canadians, but those from the East Coast can.”
Rose removed her hand from her mouth. Her eyes twinkled, “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
Sirius’s eyes narrowed and then he smirked, “Good one. You got me there! Of course you know this means war?”
“Goodness how terrifying,” Rose responded flatly. “I’m all aquiver.”
Sirius boomed with laughter, “Oh I like her. I like her a lot.”
Rose smiled sweetly, “Do you live here?” she wondered.
“Yes,” replied Sirius, just as Remus said “No” and Harry said “Sort of.” They all winced.
“Er, Padfoot lives here,” Harry explained hastily. “Moony is visiting, and I er... come and go.”
“Good save,” Rose chuckled, “very convincing. You don’t need to hide it from me though. I know what’s going on.”
“You do?” Harry asked, while Sirius and Remus shared an alarmed look.
“Of course,” Rose laughed. “It’s obvious. But it's almost the twenty-first century. Gay couples can be quite open these days.”
“Gay couples?” Harry repeated in confusion.
Rose nodded and pointed a finger back and forth between Padfoot and Moony.
There was a brief moment of shocked silence, and then Harry erupted with laughter.
“You think we’re gay?!?” Sirius demanded. “We’re not gay!” He hesitated for a second, “Well the jury is still out on Moony, but I’m not gay! Ask any woman here!”
Harry was still rolling about chortling. Moony rolled his eyes and sighed in a long-suffering sort of way.
Rose raised a disapproving eyebrow at Sirius, “Ask any woman here? Any woman?”
Sirius suddenly realised what he’d implied, “Well... that is to say... I erm...”
Harry laughed even harder. Sirius scowled.
“I think you might have blown your chances there Padfoot,” Remus remarked dryly.
“Bugger,” Sirius swore. “I’m going to the bar.” He stood and vanished quickly into the crowd.
Remus smiled at Harry and Rose, “Well, I think I’ll leave you kids alone. Have fun!” He too ventured into the crowd, making a beeline for a lost-looking girl standing off to one side.
“That was awesome!” Harry declared, clutching at his aching sides, “Absolutely brilliant!”
Rose sucked on her straw in wide-eyed innocence. A little too wide-eyed and too innocent, it seemed to Harry. His brow furrowed in suspicion.
“Wait! Did you do that on purpose?” Harry asked in disbelief. “You didn’t really think they were gay?”
“Well they do dress in a rather... flamboyant style,” Rose responded, “and those goatee beards don’t do them any favours... but no. I didn’t think they were gay. This bar is full of scantily clad women gyrating provocatively, and they were both checking them out. Padfoot’s clearly like a dog in heat – he can’t help chatting up every woman he meets. Moony is more like a wolf – he hunts his prey from the shadows and then pounces when he sees one separated from the pack. Either way, their prey seems to be exclusively female.”
It had never occurred to Harry how much their animal forms were reflected in Sirius’ and Remus’ behaviour. In his previous life neither of them had been around for long enough for Harry to pick up on it, but Rose was right. Harry glanced over at Moony, who was deep in conversation with the lost-looking girl. She was laughing at something he’d said. Harry was glad for him. Remus didn’t sleep around like Sirius – he seemed to be looking for that special someone. It was rather unnerving that Rose had nailed them so accurately.
Rose smiled at Harry, her eyes twinkling, “I was impressed that you weren’t checking out the gyrating women, and I thought it would be nice for us to chat without the parentals cramping our style. Unless of course it’s you that’s gay?”
Harry grinned at her stupidly. She was an amazing woman.
“No,” he told her with a chuckle, “I’m not gay. This is a gay bar though. We’ve been coming here for years and Padfoot still hasn’t realised that. Women come here so they can have a good time without being harassed by men. Padfoot thinks his cheesy chat-up lines are the root of his success, but at the end of the night when the women are a bit tipsy, he’s one of the only straight men in here. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.”
They talked for the rest of the evening, and didn’t even notice that the bar was empty until Lucas threw them out. Harry walked Rose back to her hotel, and went home with a spring in his step. They’d arranged to meet for lunch the next day, after which Harry was going to show her the sights. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy.
Over the next few days Harry and Rose spent an increasing amount of time together. The more he got to know her, the more he was drawn to her. She was considerate and kind, with a wry sense of humour and a light-hearted outlook on life. They talked for hours, and spent most of it laughing. Harry avoided asking anything about her past, for fear of her doing the same. If she noticed, she never mentioned it. She was incredibly easy-going and seemed happy to talk about whatever he wanted to talk about.
At the end of their third day together (or third date, as Harry considered it) Harry suggested they walk back to her hotel along the moonlit beach. It had been a hot day but the clear skies made for a cool evening. Rose was cold despite her shawl and huddled into Harry’s side, gripping his arm for support and warmth. Harry made no comment, but something in his chest was exploding in joy.
It was a perfect evening, he realised. Tiny waves were lapping peacefully against the shore, while palm trees rustled quietly in the breeze. They had the beach entirely to themselves. Harry looked down at the girl clinging to his arm. She sensed his gaze and looked up at him through her eyelashes. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She squeezed his arm even tighter and rested her forehead against his shoulder, sighing in contentment.
There was no conscious thought or plan to his actions. He was simply overcome. His heart took control of his body and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. His arm swung behind her back and he pulled her close, bringing them both to sudden stop, their bodies pressed together. Rose looked up at him, her lips parting in surprise. Harry’s other arm encircled her, raising her up on her tip-toes, the curves of her body meshing perfectly with his.
Harry looked down at her. Their faces were inches apart and her arms were pinned between their chests. If she didn’t want this she would turn her face and push him away. But she didn’t. She lifted her chin so their lips were almost touching and her eyes drifted closed. Harry lowered his lips gently to hers. Rose moaned and went limp in his arms. Harry crushed her body against his and lost himself in the kiss.
He had no idea how long they stood there kissing. At some point her arms had wriggled free and wrapped themselves around his neck. Her feet were no longer touching the ground. She was above him now, kissing him with unbridled and raw passion. Harry became acutely aware of the softness of her breasts against his chest, and the curve of her bum just below where his hand lay in the small of her back. He desperately wanted to slide his hand lower but he resisted. He didn’t want to spoil a perfect moment by going too fast.
Some indeterminate amount of time later, Rose finally pulled her lips away from his. She looked down at him with a huge grin on her face.
“Now that was worth waiting for,” she said, with a tone of deep satisfaction.
“Waiting for?” Harry queried. Had she been waiting for him to kiss her? Since when?
“Yes,” she replied, her eyes twinkling. “I wanted my first kiss to be special, and it was.”
Her first kiss, Harry repeated in his head. Not our first kiss, but her first kiss? His eyes widened.
“You mean... that was your first kiss... ever?”
Rose smiled even wider, “Yes, and you did a fine job. I chose well.”
Harry was speechless. He lowered her slowly back to the ground.
As always, Rose was thoroughly unfazed. She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward to resume their stroll.
“Now don’t go getting a big head. Just because I let you kiss me once doesn’t mean I’ll do it again. You did good on the first one though, so you’re in with a good chance.”
“A good chance?” Harry repeated, somewhat in a daze.
“Maybe,” she said coyly. “Of course you’d have to catch me first.”
Rose took off up the beach at a run. Harry stood open-mouthed for a second, and then took off after her. Rose squealed and picked up the pace, laughing and whooping
She didn’t make it easy for him – it took him a good five minutes to catch her. They lay on the sand panting. Harry was draped across her body pinning her hands above her head. She looked into his eyes, her expression full of mischief and challenge.
“Okay you got me,” she conceded breathlessly. “Now what are you going to do with me?”
Harry’s lips met hers hungrily and she moaned again. Her wrists slipped from his grip, but she circled her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her. They kissed on the sand for hours, and then lay in each others’ arms until Rose began to shiver in the chilly air.
Harry walked her back to her hotel and kissed her farewell at the door. He wanted to go further of course; much further. But he didn’t want to ruin a perfect night. If tonight was her first ever kiss, then he would need to let her dictate the pace. He was more than happy to do so, because he’d never felt the way he’d felt tonight. Kissing Rose was like nothing he’d ever experienced. It went deeper than his head and his heart. He felt it in his soul.