Chapter 9 #3
The compliment and the look pressed in on him. He knew he could cook, but for some reason, her appreciation mattered. With a deep breath, he placed a plate of rashers and eggs in front of her, enjoying the way her smile lit her entire face in appreciation.
“No one’s made me breakfast since . . .” She trailed off, blinking as if the words had escaped without permission. A small
shake of her head. “Well. It’s been a while.”
The flicker of vulnerability—so fast, so unguarded—landed squarely in his chest.
It mattered to her. This mattered to her.
Which only made it harder to pretend it didn’t matter to him.
The knowledge shot a direct line to his heart, propelling him to lose all sense and ask, “Would you like some . . . tea?”
She nearly choked down a swallow and turned to take a drink of water before looking back at him, a soft smile playing over
her lips. “Do you actually know how to make superior leaf water?”
Her exaggeration pulled another smile from him. Their eyes met. Held.
And stuck.
He cleared his throat, turning back to the stove, grabbing the pot of oatmeal as an excuse to move. What was going on with
him?
“Making tea and liking it are two very different things.”
“Actually, if you like it, you make it better.” She pointed her half-eaten toast at him like a culinary wand. “It’s science.
Or magic. Or some equally inconvenient truth.”
He placed the oatmeal between their plates on the table and remained standing next to Daphne. “You’re calling me inconvenient?”
“Oh, definitely.” Her grin sharpened, eyes dancing. “And possibly a breakfast saboteur. This is a trap, isn’t it? You’re trying
to sabotage my confidence before the wedding showdown. Undermine my competitive spirit with . . . delicious carbs.”
Good, the banter was back. Preferable. More manageable.
“Guilty.” He gestured toward the table. “Clearly, I’m superior.”
“Hardly.” She scoffed and crossed her arms. “This is a one-off miracle. No one should trust the culinary instincts of a man
who thinks gas station coffee is a valid life choice.”
He chuckled, but it wasn’t the charming, calculated kind. It was real.
And it felt good to be . . . real with her. He gave his head a shake.
There she went again.
Slipping beneath his defenses like she’d done last night with that talk of food and grandmothers. Authentic. Unfiltered. And
for some reason . . . more dangerous than flirting.
“Food can be terribly persuasive, Ms. Austen.” He leaned a little closer. “I might just win you over with it.”
She rolled her eyes in a way that should have been ridiculous. It wasn’t. It was unfairly charming.
Her grin tugged up at one corner like she enjoyed their back-and-forth just as much as he did.
Too much.
Like a daily dose of something he didn’t know he was craving.
Like something he might not want to live without.
He tried to shake it off. Keep things simple. Light. Like the past relationships.
Kiss and leave.
His gaze dipped to her mouth.
Right.
That’s all.
“Sweetness can be powerful, Mr. Perfect Teeth,” she corrected, lifting an eyebrow. “Doesn’t mean the rest of your cooking
is.”
“Mr. Perfect Teeth?” He blinked. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“I was taught to be nice, not just play nice.” That soft Southern drawl wrapped around her declaration and tugged at something inside him.
He should’ve backed off. Thrown a joke in. Flirted just enough to cover the fact that she was getting under his skin in a way no one else had in a long time.
But she was standing so close, and her gaze kept flickering like she didn’t want to look—and couldn’t quite help herself.
That’s when the real trouble began.
“What’s wrong with both?” he asked, his voice lower now. “A little fun, a little . . . sweetness, all rolled into one?”
She snorted, even as her gaze drifted slowly down his frame and then locked with his again. And lingered.
His skin prickled with a sudden need.
“Fun, maybe,” she said softly. “But sweet is not a word I’d use to describe you.”
“No?” He stepped in. Just close enough to make her eyes widen slightly. “And how would you describe me?”
She hesitated, her attention snagged at the corner of his mouth—where a little smirk tugged, daring her.
“Dangerous,” she whispered.
The way she said it—barely there, barely brave—sucker punched him.
Because it wasn’t flirtation. It was a truth she hadn’t meant to say out loud.
And suddenly, he wanted to prove her wrong. Show her that there was more to him than cocky grins and casual charm. Once, he’d
been the kind of man who knew how to love fully, without hesitation. And look where that had gotten him.
“Dangerous?” His voice dropped, the air between them shrinking by inches. His pulse spiked as his gaze roamed her face, drawn
in by those too-perceptive eyes. “I’m not the one who’s dangerous, Daphne.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t . . .”
“Genuine kindness,” he said, voice rough, “is dangerous too. It makes people hope for things they shouldn’t. For things they
can’t repay.”
Like someone staying.
Like love not leaving.
Her gaze softened. “Repayment isn’t necessary, Finn.”
The way she said his name—soft, warm, wrapped in that Carolina twang—made something ache deep in his chest. Her sweetness.
Her sarcasm.
Those lips.
He was unraveling.
Surely, just one taste. One kiss. That would be enough. It would scratch the itch. Get it out of his system. He could kiss
her, reset his brain, and walk away like a gentleman.
Like all the other times.
“Perhaps, there is a way.” The hitch in her breath only fueled his insanity to take another step closer. His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Certainly
I could offer you something in return. Something . . . better than stuffed French toast, even?”
“Ah, well . . .” Her voice rasped, attention flickering from his eyes to his lips. “I’m guessing you don’t mean something
like . . . letting me win the wedding competition?”
He paused his approach to appreciate her humor. He really could like her too much for his own good. “Not exactly.”
“Oh . . . hmm . . .” She slipped a step back and raised a finger in mock inspiration. “I know. How about . . . letting me
drive your car?”
His car? That actually made him pause. “You want to drive my car?”
She leaned close, giving those golden brows of her a shimmy. “Like I want air to breathe.”
He blinked and shifted back a step. “That’s a tall order.”
“I rescued your sweet daughter and opened my door to strangers. That’s gotta earn me something.”
His chest squeezed to the needy point, and the feeling shook him. Maybe even scared him. She’d opened the door to more than his daughter. She was opening doors in him he’d sworn to keep locked. Inspiring hope he didn’t know what to do with.
And that terrified him more than he’d ever admit.
He liked her. Too much. The way she talked, the way she listened, the way she cared—like it was second nature. Like he and
Lucy fit here.
But that kind of believing? That kind of risk?
No.
He couldn’t afford it.
So he did what he always did.
Let the charm step forward and take the fall.
“I have another idea in mind.” He took a step closer. “Even better than the car.”
Her attention dropped to his lips again.
A tell.
An invitation.
Intentional or not, it undid him.
He should stop this. Keep things light. But strawberry cream lingered at the corner of her mouth like an added temptation.
And the last of his restraint shattered.
“How long has it been since you’ve been properly kissed?”
She cleared her throat, spine straightening like she’d just been called on in class. “I’ve had my fair share of kisses, thank
you.”
But the whisper-soft words lacked conviction. Not the kind that said recently. Not the kind that said well.
“Not from me.”
Her breath caught.
And the air shifted.
“Impressive,” she murmured, staying close, almost leaning in. “You think that’s going to win me over?”
“I don’t know.” He reached for her, his hand finding the small of her back—and when she didn’t pull away, the fragile leash on his control snapped. “Let’s find out.”
Before he could talk himself out of it, he dipped forward and caught her gasp with his mouth.
The kiss was supposed to be simple. Flirty. A quick indulgence.
The kind of kiss you could chalk up to impulse and walk away from.
But the second their lips touched, a quiet desperation seized him. A longing he hadn’t expected. He meant to tease, to dazzle,
to leave her dazed.
Instead, he was the one coming undone.
He gentled his caress, urging her to answer his nonverbal request.
And she did, melting into him—warm, yielding, heart rattling—and every careful line he’d drawn around his life blurred. Her
sigh sent something through him that felt too much like belonging.
He drew her closer, breaking every rule he’d made to keep people out. And when she answered his kiss with a gentle purr of
pleasure, he nearly staggered.
He wasn’t ready for this.
He wasn’t ready for her.
And still, he didn’t stop.
Instead of shaking up her world a little, she was anchoring him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
This wasn’t just a kiss.
This dangled hope.
And he drank it in like a starving man who didn’t know how empty he’d been.
He nearly pulled away—nearly did the responsible thing. But then she slid her palms to his cheeks, cradling his face like
she didn’t just want him—she trusted him. And that wrecked him more than the kiss ever could.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with her.
Not with anyone.
Not after someone had promised forever and left him behind with a broken heart and a two-year-old girl asking why her mommy
didn’t come back.
But Daphne Austen made him want to believe again.
To yield to his heart.
And that terrified him.
Her fingers slipped back to caress his ears, inciting the tiniest moan from him. He nearly brought the kiss to a close on
that ground alone.
He never lost control. Not anymore. Not with women. Not when so much was at stake.
And yet . . .
He’d seen something in her eyes. It looked a little too much like faith.
In him.
It slammed into him like a fist to the gut, an unspoken request demanding a reply he couldn’t . . . wouldn’t give.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard, eyes locked on hers.
She blinked up at him, dazed. Cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, and utterly beautiful.
He almost leaned in again.
She searched his face, and some sort of dawning shifted her expression. She stepped back. Just a small step, but it felt like
a chasm.
A sudden sheen glossed her eyes—brief, blinked away—but it stabbed through him.
He’d made a monumental mistake.
He hadn’t counted the cost.
“I . . .” Her fingers trembled to her lips as she retreated another step. “I shouldn’t have let that happen.”
Panic scraped at his ribs. His heart scrambled for cover—for a joke. A deflection. Anything to cover the searing vulnerability.
“That bad, was it?”
She let out a shaky half laugh—but the accompanying smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“No,” she whispered. “It was . . . great.”
A beat passed. Then another.
“Too great. For me.”
That hit harder than he expected.
Because he didn’t want her to think that. Didn’t want her to regret this.
“Daphne—”
She held up a hand, halting him. Her eyes met his again, and the heat from before was gone. Replaced with something bruised.
He had the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach for her. To fix it. Comfort her. Undo the damage.
“I . . . I’m not interested, Finn.”
“No?” Her words knifed through him, but he tugged the charmer’s mask into place. “Not even a little?”
“I don’t care in small amounts.” The soberness in her tone encouraged more distance than he wanted. Resurrected a wall between
them that he, evidently, had forgotten to keep in place.
He should thank her.
“This might be your typical fun, but I’m not a game player. Especially with guys like you.”
He flinched.
“Guys like me?” He forced a shrug, clinging to flippancy like a life raft. “You mean tall, dark, and handsome?”
She huffed a laugh, but there was sadness in her eyes now. The kind that lingered and he couldn’t—shouldn’t—try to reach. “I mean shortsighted and flirt heavy. I’m not into heart games.”
“Oh, no worries, luv.” He took a step back, the space between them now a canyon. “I only want your time, conversation, and
attention. You can keep your heart.”
He hated himself the second the words left his mouth.
And judging by the flicker in her eyes, she hated them too. Because for the first time in a long time, he . . . didn’t mean them.
“I don’t trust myself to keep my heart where you—and your kiss—are concerned.” Caution and the tiniest hint of hurt weaved
into her expression, dousing his internal temperature. “And I’m not willing to lose it on a bet.”
His chest ached.
He hadn’t meant to make her feel like a gamble. But maybe that’s exactly what he’d done—rolled the dice with something too
fragile for casual stakes.
That wasn’t who he was.
At least . . . it hadn’t been. Before her.
Had she gotten too close? Tempted him to the point of fear? And had he lashed out the only way he knew how?
“Daphne—”
“I’m sure there are plenty of women in Wisteria who’d be happy to play your kind of games,” she continued. “But I’m not one
of them.”
“My kind?” His throat tightened.
“You want the one-night stand.” Her eyes didn’t leave his. “I want the happily ever after.”
And that—that—hurt in a place he didn’t know still had nerve endings, but he covered the sting with a smirk. “Well, actually, we’ve already
had the one-night stand, and happily ever afters are for fairy tales.”
Her eyes dimmed. “Too bad I still believe in them then.” She gave him a half smile—wistful, brave, beautiful. The kind he’d
remember later. “Silly, I know. But I’ve never been good with half-hearted or short term.”
The need to make things right burst him forward a step. “Daphne, please—”
“Daddy?”
Lucy’s sleepy voice drifted from the other room.
They both froze.
Reality snapped back into place.
Daphne took another step back. He let her.
He needed the space. Needed to shove the emotion down.
Lock it up. Bury it where it couldn’t hurt either of them.
Keeping her at a distance was safer.
For Lucy.
For him.
For her.
So why did it feel like he’d just blown his one shot at something real?
At something that might have been worth the risk?