Ours, ours, ours echoed in Joaquin’s ears, and he became acutely aware of how close they were, and how handsome the guitarrista was. Before he could think about his actions, Joaquin laid a hand on Manolo’s cheek and leaned in closer to press his lips to Manolo’s. He still smelled of dust from the bullring, and his lips were far softer than Joaquin might have guessed. More than that, though, there was a twist in Joaquin’s stomach that could only be described as happiness . Kissing Manolo felt… good—good and impossibly right.