Chapter 18
Chapter 18
Daphne sat in Flint’s truck and glared at the wrought iron fence outside his mother’s house. It was midmorning on a gorgeous sunny Sunday, and there were a million places she’d rather be than outside Eileen Yarrow’s house with Calvin Flint at her side.
“We don’t have to do this,” the man beside her said.
She tore her gaze away from the fence and traced the line of his clean-shaven jaw, the little divot in his chin, the shape of his lips. When she met his eyes, she was surprised to find them soft and sincere. Sunlight lit half his face, highlighting the color of his irises.
It should’ve been illegal for a man to have such nice eyes.
“Look, coming with me is one thing,” he continued, “but learning some ridiculous dance is another. I understand that. I’ll get it if you want to back out.”
“Stop being so nice to me,” she said. “It’s weird.”
“You know what’s weird?” he asked, leaning his head against the headrest.
“What?”
“Your grandmother, Cupcake. She’s weird. What was all that about yesterday? Grilling me about some old pot?”
Daphne shifted uncomfortably in her seat and tried to affect a careless wave. “She was just reminiscing. She does that sometimes. And she’s not weird, okay. She’s wonderful.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive. Just look at you.”
Her gaze cut to his, and he let out a laugh at whatever he saw written in her glare. Then his words sank in, and Daphne realized he’d called her wonderful. Pausing, Daphne tried to make sense of that strange new piece of information. What had he been thinking when that wave of self-pity washed over her as Ellie walked in and overshadowed her for the millionth time with a silly story about a dog? And why had it made her feel so unbearably special when he’d noticed her?
Flushing, Daphne reached for her door handle.
“Wait,” Flint said, his hand dropping to her forearm. The heat of it sank through her jacket into her skin, and Daphne held back the shiver his touch caused.
“What?”
“Should we go over our story? Your family didn’t exactly seem satisfied with your ‘We’re taking it slow’ spiel.”
“Don’t worry about them. They think I’m moving on from my ex, and they’re excited,” Daphne said, rolling her eyes.
“You keep mentioning him,” Flint noted, the corners of his eyes tightening slightly.
“Feeling threatened, Sheriff?” Daphne snorted. “Don’t bother. We broke up nearly two years ago.”
“Mm.” He moved his hand from her forearm and rubbed his chin. “So what’s our story?”
“‘Story’?”
“We covered the traffic stop. But we should add some details for color. Our first date. What we like about each other. That kind of thing.”
“We ...” Daphne drifted off, frowning. “I can’t think of anything I like about you.”
Flint laughed, deep and sincere. He shook his head. “You never let up, do you?”
A little flame burst to life in Daphne’s chest. She discovered she liked making him laugh. Licking her lips, she shrugged and said, “The closer we stick to the truth, the better.”
His eyes were oddly intense. “Yeah,” he said. “All right. I pulled you over for a traffic stop, and we reconnected after nineteen long, lonely years apart. There was a spark, and now we’re here. We’ll make up the rest as we go.”
His words made Daphne strangely uncomfortable. They were a little too close to the truth. He was rewriting history in a way that made it sound like there was something real between them. But wasn’t it better that way? They needed to convince people they were seeing each other for at least the next three weeks, since that’s when the vow renewal would happen. And it wasn’t like they could pretend nothing was going on after she’d flashed her bra at Rhonda Roberts the other day. They either had to commit to this, or Daphne had to forget about ever getting her grandmother’s heirloom back.
“Right,” she finally said, and reached for the door again. “Let’s get this over with. Your sister better have been serious about helping me with the choreography. I’m an accountant, not a dancer.”
“I’m banking on her helping both of us,” he replied as they walked toward the gate, his shoulder brushing hers. There was a human-size gate beside the driveway, so they stepped through. Daphne followed Flint up the steps on the steeply graded front lawn to the entrance.
It was a gorgeous home, nestled in mature gardens that would soon begin to bud. Moss grew between the paving stone steps. The A-frame house had cedar shingles and huge windows, and Daphne could spy chunky timber furniture and tasteful artwork inside.
Then she banged into Flint’s shoulder as he abruptly turned around to speak to her. The contact startled her, and she discovered she had catlike reflexes, not because they were quick, but because the slight nudge of his shoulder against her chest had made her spring and stumble away from him like she’d been zapped by a high-voltage electrical cable.
Her heel sank into one of those mossy gaps in the pavers before catching on the edge of the stone. Daphne’s arms windmilled as she yelped, the steep incline doing nothing to prevent her fall. And wasn’t this just typical? She was going out on a limb to come here and be uncomfortable while she learned some ridiculous choreography for some woman she didn’t even know, accompanied by a man she couldn’t stand, all because she’d promised her grandmother to recover some heirloom that had probably been destroyed years ago.
Now she’d crack her head on stepping stones and roll down the hill like the uncoordinated clown she was.
Except that’s not what happened.
A strong arm banded across her back and tugged her forward until she crashed against a broad, warm chest. Flint wrapped his other arm around her upper back while her own hands came to curl in his shirt, her breasts pressed against his pecs, her breaths sawing in and out of her lungs.
He held her close, his cheek at her temple. Warm breath coasted over the shell of her ear as he exhaled. “You okay?”
His scent was everywhere, and Daphne realized she was trembling. It wasn’t right that someone so annoying should feel this good with his arms wrapped around her. His shirt was soft against her cheek, and the tip of her nose nudged against his neck.
Flint’s hands spread out over her back so she could feel the heat of his palms through her jacket.
Her heart rattled. Some kind of temporary madness overtook her, because Daphne made no move to extricate herself from his hold. And it was a hold . He kept her pressed against the length of him, both arms keeping her right where she was. The whole world narrowed to just him. The scent of his skin. The stubble already roughening his jaw as his head dipped slightly. The heat of him. The strength of his arms around her.
It felt so good that Daphne lost herself for a moment, clinging to his shirt, little micro movements bringing them impossibly closer together. Her fingers unclenched and spread out over his shoulders. His head dipped so his lips were near her cheek. Tight bands encased Daphne’s chest, making it hard to breathe as she shifted, her own lips brushing his jaw.
Kissing him would be ridiculous. They worked together. They were pretending. She hated him, mostly. She wasn’t even attracted to him, other than those weird moments when she was. Like right now, for example.
The arm he held tight to her lower back shifted, and the tips of his fingers dipped beneath the hemline of her jacket and shirt at her side. The contact of his skin against hers made an exhale rush out of her, and she shifted her head to meet his gaze. Their lips were an inch apart.
“Daphne,” he rasped, and his hand slipped fully under her top so his whole palm was pressed to her side. Heat blazed through her core, which was ridiculous. She shouldn’t have been this turned on by the feel of his hand against her waist, but she was.
“I tripped,” she said, which was the only thing she could come up with when her brain was struggling to process all the stimuli it was experiencing.
“I know,” he replied, and nudged her nose with his before dipping his head—
“Calvin! You’re here!” a woman’s voice called out.
They sprang apart, but one of Flint’s arms remained wrapped around Daphne’s waist. His hand was still against her bare skin as he swung them both around to greet the woman beaming at them from the front door. When his thumb stroked her waist, Daphne stopped trying to resist him and just stood there, reeling.
Did she ... Did she want to sleep with Calvin Flint? And did he want to sleep with her ? What was happening?
“Hey, Mom,” he said, his thumb making another stroke over the skin of her waist. “You know Daphne Davis, right?”
Eileen Yarrow folded her hands in front of her stomach and seemed to force herself to stop smiling. “So glad to have you, Daphne. Come in! We have a lot of work to do.”
Daphne forced her lips into a curve, then darted a glance at the man still stroking the bare skin at her side. The softness had fled from his features, and he stared at his mother through narrowed eyes. Was he mad because she’d interrupted them? Daphne watched him take a deep breath and relax his shoulders. It didn’t look like he was upset about their little moment being stopped. It looked like he was fighting against something much deeper.
“Ready?” he asked in a quiet, rough voice.
Maybe being wrapped in his arms had addled her brain, because Daphne found herself softening toward him. She wanted to ask him what had put those shadows in his eyes. She wanted to make him laugh again. “Yeah,” she finally responded. “Lead the way.”
“Five, six, seven, eight! And step right. And step left. Shimmy, shimmy, touch, tap! Turn, dip, turn, RAWR! Good, Ceecee. Mom, you’re slow. You gotta keep up. Again! Five, six ...”
Daphne blew out a breath and pushed a strand of hair off her sweat-slicked forehead. She glanced to her left, where Flint was scowling at his feet like he could intimidate them into doing what they were supposed to. They were in a vast living room that had been cleared of furniture, along with ten other amateur dancers. At the front of the room, near the French doors that led to a big backyard, was Eileen’s sister-in-law, Kathy Yarrow.
Kathy was large and in charge. In her sparkly blue kitten heels, she topped six feet in height. Her shirt was a flowy blue-and-white number with swirls of sequins, paired with tight white jeans. Her hair was bleached to within an inch of its life, and her fingers were long and tipped in daggerlike nails. Her eyes were rimmed in thick black liner, with lashes clumped together with an unknown number of coats of mascara.
Archie Sr.’s sister was terrifying.
When Kathy clapped her hands, her multitude of rings let out ominous clanks. “Turn, dip, turn, RAWR— no . Stop! Cut the music!”
Archie Jr., the current mayor of Fernley Island, pressed a button on the sound system from his perch on a chair at the side of the room. Daphne couldn’t help the sideways glance she gave him. Why did he get to sit this torture out? He reclined in the chair next to the speaker, a bored expression on his face. He had beady eyes and thin, wet lips. Daphne disliked him immensely, mostly because he’d been nearly as annoying as Flint in high school, but he’d gotten away with it because his last name was Yarrow. From what she could tell, the arrogance and entitlement had endured to adulthood.
Kathy glared at the assembled dancers. She walked the length of the living area, turned on her kitten heels, and walked back. Ceecee peeked over her shoulder from her spot in the front-middle position of the dance troupe, giving Daphne big eyes.
Daphne stuck out her tongue, and Ceecee copied her. Daphne snickered.
“Is this funny to you, Ms. Davis?” Kathy asked in a quiet, dark voice.
Daphne’s attention snapped back to the older woman. A few of the dancers turned to look at her, and suddenly she felt like a child who’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. She resisted the urge to squirm. “No,” she answered. “I think the dance is great.”
It was a complete lie. Flint must have been able to tell, because he shot her a glance with a single raised eyebrow that said You’re still a suck-up, Davis. Daphne resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him too. In fact, it seemed important to keep her tongue far, far away from him right now.
“Of course the dance is great,” Kathy snapped. “I choreographed it, didn’t I? Those bruises of yours going to be healed up by the time we have to perform?”
Daphne touched the sides of her nose. It no longer hurt, so she nodded. “Probably.”
“Good,” Kathy answered. “Now—”
“Honey,” Kathy’s elderly mother, Dorothea, cut in, “do you think you could modify this? My legs ...”
“Your legs are fine, Mom.”
“I’m eighty-nine years old.”
“Age is just a number,” Kathy replied, squaring her shoulders. “Okay, people! We’re going to go through this one more time. I want all of you to focus .”
Flint sidled up to Daphne, the heat of his body soaking into her side. Daphne kept her eyes forward and her tongue firmly enclosed behind her teeth. “There’s still time to back out, you know,” he told her, voice warm.
“I said I’d do it, so I will.” She could handle a little inconvenient lust. Maybe if they spent more time together, it would fade. She’d remember all the reasons he infuriated her, and she wouldn’t wonder whether or not he was a good kisser.
This was about her family heirloom. About proving to everyone, including herself, that she wasn’t boring and predictable. It wasn’t about the man whose gaze made her burn up.
Flint huffed a laugh, the back of his hand brushing hers as he moved into position. Daphne ignored the thrill of it, ignored the way she seemed to sense every movement he made. She focused on Kathy’s direction, using every ounce of brainpower to make sure she didn’t step on anyone’s toes. They made it through the bulk of the choreography, and Daphne’s heart raced. They’d never made it this far without having to stop and reset. She grabbed one of the gigantic pink feathers from where they’d been placed at the sides of the room. Along with the rest of the dancers, she tented her feather over the middle of the circle, shaking it slightly as Kathy called out directions.
The intent was to have Eileen and Archie Sr. sneak in to the center of the group, then pop up through the feathers like a couple of cabaret singers exploding out of a giant cake. Daphne shook her feather as she held it in position. Kathy called out, “Hold! Hold! Hold!” Ceecee stared at the feathers with grim determination on the other side of the circle, little arms working hard to make that feather dance.
It was happening. They were going to make it through the entire choreography. Nearly four hours after they’d begun, they’d finally get a clean run-through.
“ Reveal !” Kathy screamed.
The feathers came up as their troupe fanned out to show the lovebirds in the center. The dancers were supposed to spin out as they stepped aside, so the feathers would float away from Eileen and Archie just in time for them to start their first dance.
And that’s where things went wrong.
Dorothea spun in the wrong direction a beat too late, and her face connected with Flint’s outrageously violent flinging of his feather. The man was a danger to society. The back of the sheriff’s palm smacked the old woman across the jaw. Shouts echoed in the room.
And Daphne watched the poor old woman’s dentures leave her mouth like they were a sentient monster in a horror flick. They flew in a perfect arc, grinning maniacally as they came at her, and she didn’t even have time to lift her feather to block the impact.
The dentures hit her square in her left black eye. They were wet and warm and disgusting. Daphne screamed and flailed as she fell backward. Her foot caught on the edge of the rug, and she twisted in midair to try to break her fall. The giant pink feather went flying toward Archie Jr., who sat on his chair, staring at his grandmother with a look of abject horror painted on his features.
Daphne stumbled and crashed headfirst into his chest. Archie Jr. stomped on the arch of her foot as he tried to save himself, pushing Daphne away as he did. Pain lanced through her ankle as she tumbled to the ground, jarring her shoulder on the hardwood floors.
The dentures clattered and rolled under the sideboard, upon which the sound system blasted the music that was meant to be Eileen and Archie Sr.’s moment of glory.
Instead, chaos reigned.
Kathy wailed, using those impressive pipes of hers to destroy everyone’s eardrums. People clustered around Dorothea, who insisted she’d be all right as soon as someone got her teeth back. Flint looked like a guilt-ridden mess, his big hands holding the old woman in place as he inspected her face. Archie Jr. sat up and shot Daphne a venomous look.
“I should have known inviting a Davis into our home was a bad idea,” he hissed.
Daphne, clutching her sore ankle, glowered at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Archie Yarrow the Younger was a man of average height with a growing bald patch on the crown of his head. He was the same age as Daphne, and clearly her prejudices had been correct. He’d been as full of himself in his youth as he was now. Sneering, he said, “Your mother burned my grandfather’s house down. Now look what you’ve done.”
“I’m not the one who smacked your grandmother in the face, genius.”
“Might as well have been. What Flint sees in you is a damn mystery. But I guess that’s what happens when you run topless through the streets just to get a date.”
Apparently the rumor had progressed. Wonderful. She glared. “Archie, I haven’t spoken to you in almost two decades. What the hell is your problem?”
Flint appeared above her, his gaze flicking between Daphne and the mayor, who shut his mouth as soon as the sheriff appeared. Flint dropped to a crouch. “You okay? Saw you go down hard.”
“It’s fine. Archie broke my fall.”
Archie blustered as he got to his feet, glaring at the two of them.
“I think I might have to keep you wrapped in bubble roll, Cupcake. You don’t seem equipped to navigate the world on your own.”
“Did you know I ran through the streets topless just to get a date with you?”
“When?”
“After we went to see Jerry Barela.”
Archie’s hands fisted where he stood, his gaze boring into the side of Daphne’s head. She discovered she enjoyed standing up for herself. This new, nonboring version of Daphne had its benefits.
Flint’s eyes glimmered as he ignored the man vibrating with fury above them. “I’m sorry I missed that.”
Archie let out a snarl and stomped out of the room without even checking whether his grandmother was okay. Flint watched him leave, then turned back to Daphne. The lightness had gone from his expression. His brows were drawn, his eyes full of concern.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Daphne asked, massaging her ankle.
The sheriff didn’t answer. He watched the movement of her hands, and his frown deepened. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“Can you stand?”
“I’m fine .”
“Last time you told me that, you walked away with two black eyes without getting checked for a concussion. Your behavior since then indicates that was a mistake.”
“You’re an unbelievably huge asshole, Flint. Did you know that?”
He once again failed to respond, choosing instead to bat her arms away so he could wrap his hands around her ankle. The heat of his skin on hers was a shock. Daphne’s teeth clicked as she clamped her lips shut, the whole of her attention focused on the feel of Flint’s rough, calloused hands gently stroking every inch of her ankle, foot, and calf.
“Is Dorothea okay?” Daphne asked to distract herself from the onslaught, watching the older woman lower herself into an armchair.
Flint glanced over his shoulder, his hands still on Daphne’s skin. “She says she’s fine. I want to get some ice on her jaw. I should’ve been more careful.”
Ceecee slithered under the sideboard and came out holding dust bunny–covered dentures. She glanced at the two of them. “Grandma said she’s perfectly fine, but she wants a stiff drink and she’s not doing the stupid dance, and if Mom doesn’t like it, she can stick these dentures where the sun don’t shine.” Ceecee leaned toward them and lowered her voice. “She means her butt.”
“She sounds like a wise woman,” Daphne replied. “I might have to bow out myself.”
Ceecee shot her a grin, then sprinted across the room to present her grandmother with the soiled dentures. Daphne’s attention returned to the sheriff, who seemed wholly consumed with the state of her ankle.
“Can you move your foot?” A strand of hair fell over his forehead as he bent over her limb.
A spark lit between Daphne’s legs as the sheriff’s thumbs stroked down the front of her ankle, his other fingers curving around the arch of her foot. This was too much. Too intimate. Not intimate enough.
Whatever was happening between them was getting out of hand. Daphne needed to get away from him as soon as humanly possible. She tried to move her foot out of his hold and hissed as pain shot up the outside of her ankle. “It’s sore.”
“Let’s get some ice on it,” Flint said. He helped her to her feet, then slung one of Daphne’s arms around his broad shoulders and held her waist like he’d never let go. “Hop if you can. It might hurt to put some weight on it.” He guided her out of the chaotic living room and into the kitchen around the corner.
After sitting down at the built-in banquette seat in the breakfast nook, Daphne watched him open the freezer and hunt through the cupboards and drawers until he found a plastic bag. When he opened the corner cabinet, she spied pots and pans. One of them was the rough black of cast iron.
Her pulse quickened. Was it the pot?
“I’ll run this out to Dorothea and then come back for your ankle,” he said, lifting the bag of ice.
“Sure,” Daphne said, eyes tracking him as he left the room. The kitchen door swung closed behind him, and Daphne was up in a flash. She leaned on the counters and hobbled to the corner cabinet. She wrenched it open and fumbled with her phone. She snapped a couple of pictures, then closed the cabinet and hurried back to her seat just in time for Flint to push the kitchen door open again.
He glanced at where she was sitting as if to make sure she hadn’t moved, then made her a bag of ice.
Daphne glanced at the pictures and grimaced when she noticed the camera had focused on a stainless steel pot in the foreground instead of the black cast-iron Dutch oven in the back. The pot in question was out of focus, the details of its lid blurry. Too late to get another photo, so she sent that one to her grandmother, gaze flicking to Flint’s broad back as she waited for a response. When he turned around, a fresh bag of ice clasped in his upturned hand, Daphne’s phone vibrated.
Could be, but it’s blurry , Grandma Mabel texted. Three dots appeared below her message, and Daphne knew a slew of messages was incoming.
Heart thundering, Daphne flicked her phone to silent and turned it face down on the table. A chair screeched across the floor as Flint dragged it closer. He sat down as he wrapped a dish towel around the bag of ice, then scowled at her ankle for a minute.
It was kind of cute that he cared. Although Daphne wasn’t sure he cared about her specifically. He probably just felt guilty that it was his fault that Dorothea had gotten smacked and, by extension, his fault that Daphne had been hurt. He blamed himself for her getting punched too, which was ridiculous.
She realized with a start that he wasn’t the same person she’d known in high school. The man picking her foot up and gently placing a bag of ice over her injury wasn’t bitter and rebellious. He wasn’t intent on destroying himself and everyone around him. He might actually be a good man. The type of person who cared about other people’s well-being, who cared about doing the right thing.
Why else would he have accepted the job as acting sheriff? From what Daphne had seen, it wasn’t because he loved being back on Fernley.
“Why’d you come back to the island?” she heard herself ask.
The man currently tending to her injuries with surprising gentleness looked up and shrugged. “Wanted to make sure Ceecee wasn’t having the same childhood I had.”
Daphne sat back and let the words sink in.
No, he wasn’t the same boy she’d known nearly twenty years ago. He was much, much better.
Suddenly, guilt churned in the pit of Daphne’s stomach. She’d been lying to him about the reason she’d agreed to be his date. He didn’t deserve that—but what choice did she have? It was either get her grandmother’s pot back, or admit that Pete had been right about her all along. She was a boring, predictable woman who lacked passion and spontaneity. The best thing for her to do was find another steady job and crawl back into the shell that had been her safe haven her whole life.
But the thought of doing that made her want to cry.
“Painful?” Flint asked, gaze flicking between her eyes.
Daphne shook her head. “Just feeling sorry for myself.”
His hand slid over her foot, thumb stroking her arch. “This is my fault,” he said. “We should just forget about this whole thing. I’ll tell my mother you can’t make it to the vow renewal.”
“No,” Daphne blurted out. “No, I’ll go. I said I’d go, so I will.”
His hand was still on her foot, warm and strong and comforting. Hazel eyes met hers, hope sparking in them. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said, and it wasn’t just because she wanted to get her grandmother’s heirloom back. She still wasn’t sure if that pot in the corner cabinet was the right one. As she sat there, basking in the warmth of Flint’s care, she realized that she didn’t want to let him down. And worse—she wanted to spend more time with him.
That was bad. That meant the lust she occasionally felt for him might not go away so easily. She needed to get away from him, but the fastest way to do that was for someone here to help her home. And there was only one person she could ask.
“You mind helping me up the steps to get to my apartment?” Daphne asked after the silence between them stretched too long.
Flint leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. His spread knees framed her injured foot. “I do mind, Cupcake.”
Daphne popped a brow. “You only like playing doctor when other people might be watching?”
A dark, wicked smile curled his lips. “Not quite. I mind because I’m not taking you home.”
“Excuse me?” she scoffed and mirrored his position, crossing her arms to glare at him. “You want me to call a cab?”
“Wrong again, Davis. I’m taking you to the medical center. You’re getting an x-ray for this ankle, and then I’m taking you home.”
Daphne let out a grunt, slightly mollified.
Until Flint gave her a wicked grin and added, “ My home.”