Give Me Butterflies (Oaks Sisters #1)

Chapter 1

Millie

I ’ m a generous person who made a dreadful mistake, and that old man in the white Skechers is making me pay for it.

I held the door for him as he walked into Maggie’s Bakery because, apparently, I have a weakness in my heart for the sweet-grandpa

type. But he betrayed me by ordering the last almond croissant from one spot in front of me in line, and I’ve never had such

horrendous thoughts in my life.

There are two things I require to have a successful first day of the week: any form of caffeinated coffee and an almond croissant.

Both of those things were essential today because impostor syndrome is a real bitch, and caffeine and an almond croissant

would have given me the sugar rush I need to distract me from it.

The living fossil across the coffee shop takes a bite of that buttery, flaky croissant, and I want to fight him for it.

Put us in an arena to battle for the last one. I bet I could beat him.

Or maybe not. He has a hint of muscle under that brown sweater vest.

“We have to learn to make croissants at home,” I mutter around a bite of my consolation blueberry muffin, my eyes laser-focused

on the Croissant Crook. “I can’t live like this.”

Lena waves her rainbow-tipped nails in front of me, pulling my attention back to her caramel eyes. “Stop staring daggers at that poor man.” She grabs my face and squeezes my cheeks until my lips pucker out. “Eat your muffin. Raise your blood sugar a little so you can bring back nice Millie.”

The grinder whirs behind the counter, refreshing the espresso aroma around us as I reluctantly nibble at the muffin. My leg

bounces under the table, giving away the anxiety that’s been running through my veins all morning.

Lena notices, and her foot nudges mine until I meet her gaze. “Don’t worry about your week. You’re going to walk in there

with your head high and show them you deserve the department director position.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Anyone with anxiety knows that someone telling you not to worry is about as helpful as

a hangnail.

Today is my first chance to participate in a meeting that Calvin, my freshly retired boss and previous head of the entomology

department, would normally attend. While he’s off vacationing with his wife, enjoying the life of a man without job obligations,

I will be attending the meeting with the heads of every department at the Wilhelmina Natural Science Museum.

And then tomorrow, I have an interview for Calvin’s position.

My leg twitches restlessly under the table again just thinking about it.

“I wish I could put you in my pocket and bring you with me,” I tell Lena, taking a sip of my Americano. “You can coach me

through the day and remind me how amazing I am.”

“You’ve got this. You don’t need me, although being your personal Polly Pocket sounds like a blast.” She purses her bright red lips and perches her chin on her fist. “Can you get me the beach house with the dolphin and sea turtle? I’ve always wanted that one.”

“Of course.” I take another bite of my muffin, hoping it will settle my whirling stomach.

“Will it be the back pocket or the front? Because your cute ass would be way more comfortable.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Definitely the back. You’ll need the bigger pockets for all those accessories you’re requesting.”

***

My flats squeak on the buffed floors as I walk into the Wilhelmina Natural Science Museum, trying my best not to spill the

rest of my Americano while I readjust the large bag on my shoulder. The skies are gracing us with a cloudless summer day in

Washington, and the bright entryway sparkles in the sunlight streaming through the large windows. Octavius, our massive fossilized

Quetzalcoatlus , hangs from the ceiling, its broad wings and sharp teeth suspended over the museum’s visitors as they enter.

Eleanor waves from her circular reception desk, her round cheeks lifted in a grin. “Good morning, Millie. Love your dress

today. Looks like something I would’ve worn in the seventies,” she says, standing to peer over the counter.

“Thank you.” I set my coffee on her desk and turn in a slow circle, letting her scan the vintage dress with small butterflies

on the collar. “Lena and I took a break from our Gilmore Girls marathon this weekend to visit one of our favorite resale shops,” I tell her as I come to a stop. “I found it hidden behind

a thick rack of old jeans.”

Eleanor nods as she sits back down. “That sounds like a wonderful weekend.”

“It was,” I say with a smile. “How was yours?”

“Honey, I don’t think I’ve told you about my new book boyfriend,” she whispers with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I taught her the term “book boyfriend” a few weeks ago when she was gushing about the hero in her historical romance. She

has a book club with some other widows in her neighborhood, and I love to get recommendations from them. Their standards of

men are top-tier.

She launches into her weekend read and has me laughing about the audacity of the brooding duke and his love affair with a

scullery maid until she suddenly stops.

Her eyes flare behind her glasses.

“Well, you better get to your meeting. I don’t want you to be late.” She’s a little too eager as she nudges my coffee cup

toward me. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about the duke next time. You’ve got places to be.”

“Okay.” My gaze narrows as she waves her hands in my direction, clearly shooing me away. When I have everything balanced again,

I spin toward my office.

But I smack right into a wall of muscle, and the scent of sage and soap invades my senses.

Two big hands wrap around my arms to steady me, and my coffee cup is crushed between our bodies before it splatters to the

ground.

“Oh, dear...” Eleanor squeaks behind me, but there’s a satisfied lilt to it.

A sigh of defeat leaves my lungs, and I drop my forehead to the crisp white shirt before me. A moment of silence for the spilled coffee at my feet. My sanity will be hanging by a thread without that Americano.

Liquid seeps through my dress and into my bra, snapping me back to the reality. I pull away and find a dark stain covering the top of my dress. So much for making a good impression this morning.

My eyes are reluctantly drawn to the gray tie in front of me. Planets run down the line of fabric, and a little splash of

coffee stains the blue of Neptune.

Shit. Pins and needles creep up my spine. I know for a fact that this tie belongs to a man with a gorgeous face, but his permanent

scowl ruins the appeal for me.

I swallow, trying to wet my dry throat. There’s no hiding from this run-in, so I plaster on my brightest smile and muster

the courage to look up.

Past the tie, up the strong column of throat, over the short, trimmed beard, and into... stormy blue eyes behind black-rimmed

glasses.

My stomach drops at the crease between his dark brows and the tense line of his mouth.

Dr. Finn Ashford has glowered at me every time we’ve made eye contact, but this time is the most severe.

All the air seems to vanish from the museum as I realize how wrong I was. The scowl doesn’t ruin the appeal for me at all.

The director of the astronomy department is still more attractive than should be legal for a man with his general demeanor.

Our lives are a wealth of opposites. My job delves into small, up-close discoveries right under our feet, while his focuses

on enormous, faraway things humans may never reach.

We are microscopes versus telescopes. Smiles versus scowls. Warm versus frigid.

Was there ever a chance for us to find common ground?

Goose bumps skitter up my neck as his breath moves the hairs that have escaped my braid. He seems to remember his hands are around my arms and quickly drops them, making me stumble back a step. He spreads his fingers wide, flexing them by his sides before shoving them in his pockets.

The distance allows me to take a deep breath and let the replenished oxygen fill my lungs. “Sorry,” I mutter, looking at the

coffee on his tie.

“Yeah.” He lowers his head and rubs his fingers over Neptune like he can brush away the stain.

His clipped tone makes me grind my teeth together.

The nerve of this guy. The audacity .

“This isn’t all my fault,” I say, my pulse quickening with irritation. “You’re the one hovering so close that you could’ve given me a back

massage while you were there.”

His scowl remains, but his gaze jumps to my hair, my cheeks, and then my mouth before it snaps back to my eyes as he clears

his throat. “Shouldn’t you be working instead of chatting with Eleanor about dukes and secret affairs?”

That raises my hackles, and my usual conflict avoidance turns to dust in the wind as I spit the first thing that comes to

mind. “Shouldn’t you be rewatching Star Trek so you have something educated to say at work today?”

A ghost of a smirk flashes across Finn’s mouth before he can contain it. It’s the most positive reaction I’ve ever gotten

from him.

I think it would be a point in my column if we were keeping score.

His jaw works as he narrows his gaze. “I’m more of a Star Wars guy, actually.”

My laugh turns to a very unladylike snort when I try to stifle it.

That would be a point for him. Damn it.

Finn crosses his arms like he’s preparing for battle. “I need to speak with Eleanor. I could already be done with that if

I hadn’t had to wait for you two to finish talking.”

I fold my arms over my chest to match him and meet his eyes. Having to crane my neck to look at him probably makes me less intimidating than I’d hoped, but I mirror his facial expression and body language anyway. “Oh, please. Do forgive us women for being friendly to each other and asking about our weekends. Not everyone can barge through the doors like Kylo Ren, with a cape floating

behind them, and glower at every person who crosses their path.”

This time, he has to bite both lips to hide his amusement, but I still get a peek at it. “Have you been watching me walk in

every morning?” He tilts his head and arches an eyebrow.

I choke on my breath, and I hate that this is another point for him in a battle he’s unaware of.

A few people shuffle past us to start their workday, quiet murmurs echoing through the wide halls of the museum, but our eyes

stay pinned on each other. We are two opposing officers waiting for surrender or blood.

His gaze drops to my mouth for one small blip before it snaps back up. “May I speak to Eleanor now, or do you all need to

continue analyzing how handsome the duke is?”

I guess it’s blood, then.

A growl sneaks out of me, and I clench my fists like a toddler, feeling no shame in it. I don’t know who pissed in his Cheerios

this morning, but he should be taking it out on them instead of me.

“Absolutely. Be my guest,” I grind out through clenched teeth, waving him forward.

He bends to grab my coffee cup and gives me a crisp nod before stepping past me to Eleanor’s desk.

***

This hand dryer is no help. My green dress still has a dark stain running over it.

Anxiety fills my stomach with a familiar queasiness, dissolving the courage I had built up for this meeting. How can I be taken seriously looking like a barista’s hand towel?

The minimal confidence I’d had is now in a puddle of coffee on the floor.

I look back at my reflection and groan at the sight of my cheeks, which are still pink from my run-in with Finn.

Every time I have been in the vicinity of that man, I’ve left wondering what the hell I did to deserve the looks he directed

my way. During my first week at the museum, I held the elevator for him while he stalked toward it looking at his phone. When

he finally glanced up, his navy eyes searched my face and the empty elevator behind me.

He stepped back with a scowl and mumbled, “I’ll get the next one.”

A few weeks later, Calvin and I were in his office going through plant orders for the butterfly vivarium, when in walked Dr.

Black Hole with another scowl. He adjusted his glasses and glared my way. “I need to speak with Calvin privately,” he said,

his attention dropping to his phone while I picked up my things. I had to turn sideways to slide past him in the doorway while

he stood there like a statue, unable to move out of my way.

As the memories flood my mind, I have the sudden urge to curse him. He deserves some retaliation for the way he’s made me

feel.

May his coffee spill all over him today. May his socks get wet the next time it rains. May his window never roll all the way up,

so it makes an annoying whistling sound as he drives for all eternity.

The soft knit sleeves of my sweater brush over my arms as I tug it on and button it up to cover the coffee stain. Then I inhale

a deep breath and watch my cheeks deflate in the mirror.

Mustering pep talks for myself is not my strong suit. Lena is much better at finding the right words. But when I try to channel her confidence, my mind is a blank sheet of paper, with no hint of inspiration for what to fill the page with.

My phone dings with a text, and I pull it out of my bag. I click to open the message and find a crooked selfie of my mom holding

a black-and-white duck in our family group chat.

Oaks Folks

Mom: Alfred says good duck today, Millie!

Mom: *It’s a pun on the word “luck.” Not an autocorrect.

Tess: That’s so ducking sweet.

Fabes: Dad is snickering from the kitchen while he reads his texts.

Fabes: He’s been writing a response for five ducking minutes.

Dad: Haha. Ducking cute.

Mom: Millie, are you there? Alfred is waiting for a ducking answer.