Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Daphne wasn’t prepared for Flint to lift her legs up and lay them across his lap. She fluffed the throw pillow behind her head and shot him a suspicious look. “What are you doing?”
“Checking the swelling on your ankle.”
“Okay, Doctor,” she teased, then closed her eyes as his warm hands slid over the joint. He slipped her sock off and ran a thumb up the arch of her foot. A groan worked itself up her throat before she could stop it.
“How’s my bedside manner today?” he asked, voice a touch rougher than it had been a minute earlier.
She threw an arm over her face to stop herself from looking at him. If she saw anything close to the expression he’d worn earlier, when she’d whipped her shirt off in front of him, all bets would be off. “It’s getting better,” she admitted.
He huffed, hands gently stroking over her ankle. There was a long silence before he said, “Your family’s nice.”
“They’re lunatics.”
“They underestimate you.”
Daphne dropped her arm and looked at him. Flint kept his gaze on her ankle, his hands sweeping down the top of her foot in steady strokes. It felt like heaven, but his words rang like a gong in her head. “What do you mean?”
He shot her a look she couldn’t decipher. “They seemed pretty happy to see you as a mousy accountant who belonged in a library.”
“Maybe that’s what I am.”
“Bullshit, Davis.”
Daphne huffed. “And what, you know me so much better?”
“I know that you’re brave and smart and complicated,” he shot back.
“I feel like that’s supposed to be a compliment, but it didn’t sound like one.”
He tilted his head as if to concede the point. “I just think you’ve shown yourself to be pretty competent in a lot of areas since you’ve started working for the department. I’m not sure they realize just how much you’re capable of.”
Daphne rubbed her hand over her chest, right over a spot that ached like an old bruise. “I’ve always been the black sheep,” she admitted.
His thumb stroked around her anklebone. “Oh?”
“Once my sister came along, she sucked up all the attention and the light and the life in the room. I guess instead of fighting against it, I just decided to accept that I was the quiet one. They’re not wrong about me being a mousy accountant who belongs in a library.”
“You’re far from mousy, Daphne,” he said, hazel eyes flashing to hers. He blinked, his gaze returning to her ankle. His touch was gentle but firm, teasing the edges of her injury while stroking all the sensitive parts of her foot. It was intimate in a way Daphne didn’t quite know how to handle, but she didn’t want it to stop.
Heat curled low in Daphne’s gut. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“I just ... I like being on my own, working quietly, doing things that other people think are boring. That’s who I am. It’s the reason my ex-fiancé broke it off.”
“Because you were too smart for him?” Flint’s brows scrunched as if it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.
“No,” Daphne said, jerking as his fingertips tickled the base of her foot. A dart of pain went through her ankle at the movement, and she used it to clear her head. “No. Because I was the safe option, and he got bored of me.”
The furrowed brow didn’t go away. Flint stared at her. “The man got bored? Of you ?”
Rolling her eyes, Daphne let out a scoff. “Come on, Flint. I’m an accountant.”
“So?”
“So, by definition, I’m freaking boring!”
“I stay awake at night wondering what mess you’re going to get yourself in when I have my back turned, Davis. You’re not boring. A woman who wakes up and decides to wear red lace lingerie on a weekday morning is not a boring woman.”
The heat that had sparked in Daphne’s gut moved lower. “Well,” she said, and then her words died. Her throat was tight when she said, “When he broke it off with me, my ex told me it was because I wasn’t spontaneous enough. I didn’t take enough risks. He felt like he was settling for me.”
The movements of Calvin’s hand on her foot stilled. He frowned at her. “He said that?”
She nodded. “I don’t think he’s entirely wrong. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t take any risks at all.”
“What changed?”
A gust of wind blew rain against the living room windows. Daphne stared at the darkness beyond the glass, watching the raindrops slicing through the cone of yellow around a streetlight. “I’m not sure. Maybe I got sick of feeling like my life was passing me by.”
“For what it’s worth,” Calvin replied, his hands beginning to massage again, “it sounds like your ex was an idiot.”
She snorted. “He wasn’t that bad.”
“Even after he did that to you, you defend the man?”
“Maybe I still think he was right.”
Calvin’s jaw tightened. He focused on the movement of his fingers as he said, “I don’t.” His thumb swept around her anklebone. “I don’t think he was right at all. But I guess that’s his loss.”
Not knowing how to answer, Daphne sat there and stayed silent. Calvin slid her other sock off and began to massage her healthy foot. His fingers were strong as they dug into her arch, his thumb moving to run down between the bones at the top of her foot. Daphne sank down into the couch cushions, letting the tension of their conversation drain away.
No one had ever made her feel the way Calvin did. Not the way he poked and needled at her and made her crazy, but the way he believed in her. He didn’t see a square peg when he looked at her. He didn’t see an accountant who belonged in a sad cubicle with her soggy lunchtime salad and her precious spreadsheets. Daphne wasn’t quite sure what he saw, but she knew she liked the way it made her feel.
In the silent house sheltered from the rain and cold outside, with his hands stroking her skin, Daphne wondered if, under different circumstances, things between them might have evolved into something real. Something without a ticking clock and a secret heist. Just honesty and attraction and connection.
It was Calvin who broke the silence. He looked at her and said, “You don’t need to make yourself fit into the box these people make for you.”
“‘These people’?”
He lifted two fingers off her ankle in a dismissive flick. “Your ex.” He paused. “Your family.”
Heart thumping, Daphne met his gaze. It felt wrong to agree with him when her family was so important to her. When she believed, right down to the very core of her, that they were good people. “I’ve always felt like I never quite belonged in my family,” she finally admitted. Even though it was obvious, it was a secret she’d never said out loud, and it felt like handing him a piece of her.
His hands kept moving on her foot, the weight of his arms heavy across her shins. As if he could sense that she’d just bared a part of herself to him and he wanted to give her something in return, Calvin said, “I was horribly jealous of you in high school.”
Daphne tucked an arm behind her head, her lips curling into a grin. “What for?”
“I thought your family was this perfect unit. Thought you had it all. I’d lost my dad when I was eight and then been left to my own devices by my mom. I mean, she was young too. They were high school sweethearts, and she got pregnant at seventeen. She didn’t grieve my dad like I did. I think she felt trapped by—by me. By her marriage to my dad. Being single after he died was her first taste of freedom.”
His brow was furrowed as he concentrated on the movement of his hands over her foot, and a bit of the old ache in Daphne’s chest unfurled. She’d never met a man who could read people like Flint could. Who could read her like Flint could. His pain was evident in the tightness around his mouth and eyes, but he still managed to speak about his mother’s mistakes with empathy.
Emotion crowded Daphne’s throat. It made it hard to speak. “Still,” Daphne said. “You needed her.”
His smile wasn’t much of a smile at all. “I learned to do without.” He stroked her ankle for a moment; then his eyes took on a distant look. “And then you were this beacon of a healthy family, bright, successful, pretty ...” He shrugged, his gaze returning to the movement of his own hands. “It almost felt like a slap in the face.”
“Is that why you hated me?”
When he glanced over at her, his expression was rueful. “I never hated you, Daphne.”
The sound of her name on his lips was sweet and tender and intimate. She wanted to crack herself open and let him in, but that would mean opening herself up to the kind of hurt that could kill her. She gave him a flat look instead. “Bullshit.”
He grinned, his hands moving from her foot up to her good ankle. He pushed her jeans up so he could massage the meaty part of her calf. His touch was firm but soft, and it made Daphne want to melt into a puddle of goo.
“I saw you as a worse version of all the things I resented in my sister,” Daphne admitted. “A rebellious guy with a chip on his shoulder who went out of his way to try to be bad. Someone who had no consideration for how their actions affected other people.”
“That’s exactly what I was.”
She traced the line of his clean-shaven jaw with her eyes, looked at his neat haircut, his tidy home. This man stood on his own and exuded strength and competence. When she was with him, she felt like nothing could go wrong. She’d been nervous to interview Jerry Barela, but his faith in her had never wavered. He made her feel like she could do anything.
This wasn’t the boy she’d known all those years ago.
“What changed?” she asked quietly.
His jaw flexed, and it took a few long seconds for him to speak. When he did, Calvin’s voice was low. “I had my first taste of alcohol when I was fourteen,” he said. “By the time I failed senior year, I couldn’t go a day without a drink. Took everything in me not to flunk out completely and forget about the whole thing, but somehow I managed to scrape myself together and show up enough to graduate a year late. I’d spent a decade fending for myself while my mom jumped from man to man. She’d marry someone thinking they’d fix her life, then divorce and move on to the next. I got lost in the shuffle, I think. Everything seemed hopeless. I didn’t see the point of doing things the way I was meant to do them.”
Daphne’s heart ached. She held herself still as Calvin massaged one calf and then the other, his palms sweeping over her skin, his fingers digging into knots he found in her muscle, his thumbs making slow circles over her flesh as if the feel of her body calmed him. She wasn’t sure if he was touching her for her sake or his, but she knew she didn’t want him to stop.
“My mom always wanted a good life. She married men she thought would get her ahead. My dad had a steady job at the ferry terminal, but with me coming along so early and only one income, life was tough. He died, and she could move on easier, then. Now she’s on her fourth husband, and she’s finally made it.” His lips twisted bitterly as he slid his hands back down to her ankles, touching the swollen, bruised skin of her injury with a tenderness that was at odds with the strength of his hands.
“I’m sorry, Calvin.”
He blinked and turned to meet her gaze. A shadow of a smile tugged his lips. “Nothing for you to be sorry about, Cupcake.”
The nickname didn’t sound so mocking when he said it then. “Why do you call me that?”
His smile widened. “You don’t remember?”
Frowning, Daphne stared into his honey-colored eyes. “Remember what?”
“Your birthday. We had your dad for chemistry, and—”
“He made me cupcakes.”
Calvin laughed. “Your face got so red when he brought them out.”
“I begged him not to mention my birthday. That was so embarrassing.”
“They were good, though.”
Daphne huffed, head lolling on the throw pillow. Her eyes lingered on Flint’s features, and she loved the way his gaze softened when it met hers. When he smiled, he was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him. “I remember now,” she said, braiding her hands over her stomach. “You were sitting behind me—”
“I always sat behind you.”
Daphne stuttered, then recovered and said, “And you whispered ‘Happy birthday, Cupcake’ in my ear.”
“I thought you were going to smash your cake in my face.”
“I considered it.”
Flint laughed, his hands still stroking her calves, ankles, and feet. “I was so jealous that day. No one had ever made me a birthday cake, and you didn’t even seem to appreciate yours. It felt good to make you mad.” His smile turned a little sad. “Sorry.”
“I forgive you,” Daphne responded, a wry smile on her lips. She opened her mouth to ask him about never having had a birthday cake of his own, but reconsidered. How was it even possible? A life without a family who showered her with affection, even if they didn’t quite get it right all the time. Suddenly, she felt like an ungrateful brat for not appreciating her family. They only saw her through the lens of Responsible Daphne, but she’d never questioned their love for her.
She met Flint’s gaze and found him watching her. “I can’t believe you still speak to your mother,” she said. “I’m not sure I would. My family members have their flaws, but I know in my soul I can count on them.”
“I probably wouldn’t speak to her if it weren’t for Ceecee,” the man whose hands touched her like she was precious admitted. “The only reason I took the job as Fernley’s sheriff was to make sure my sister wasn’t experiencing what I went through. I’m not sure how I feel about my mother. A big part of me doesn’t care and just wants to let it all go, but she keeps trying to reach out. Another part of me hates the fact that she’s happy.”
“I’ll sabotage the dance and smack her in the face with a feather at the vow renewal if you want me to.”
He laughed, then, a full, deep sound. His eyes sparkled as he shook his head. “I appreciate it, but no. I don’t think that’ll make me feel better.” He squeezed her good ankle for emphasis, then said, “To answer your original question, what changed is that I moved away from Fernley and nearly drank myself to death by the time I was twenty years old. I was working nights at a warehouse, and the foreman found me passed out on the job. Instead of firing me, he took me home. It was the first time someone gave a shit about what happened to me. The first time I felt like an actual human being.”
Daphne’s throat constricted. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t want to cry. She didn’t think the man baring his soul to her would appreciate it right now.
“He let me stay with him for months while I cleaned myself up and figured out what I wanted to do. His father had been a cop, and I spent a lot of time talking to both of them. I figured the best thing I could do was find a career where at least it felt like what I was doing had meaning.”
Another crack formed in the armor that encased Daphne’s heart. “I’m so sorry, Calvin.”
His lips tugged. In a voice that was barely louder than a whisper, he admitted, “I like it when you use my name, Daphne. Sounds good coming from your lips.”
When he lifted his gaze to meet hers, his eyes were dark and haunted. He’d dredged up his past and handed it to her on a platter, and Daphne couldn’t figure out why. All she knew was that this man wasn’t the arrogant, full-of-himself jerk she’d thought he was. He wasn’t a bad boy with a chip on his shoulder who was all grown up and ready to cause more trouble. He was a complicated, honorable man who’d pulled himself out of his own personal hell through strength of will alone. He’d rebuilt himself, brick by brick, because that’s what he had to do to look himself in the eye every day.
He was good .
And what did that mean for her—for them? She had no plans to stay on Fernley once the job ended, and the last thing she wanted to do was change her life plans for a man. The only reason she was here was to find a bit of steadiness before she could move on and chase her dreams properly.
But—what dreams? A gray cubicle in a sad office building? Wilted lettuce in a Tupperware at her desk? A man who settled for her because she was the safe option?
What had she really lost these past two years, other than shackles holding her back?
And how would he react when he found out she’d lied about the vow renewal? How could she possibly explain the fact that she planned on stealing back an old, worthless pot? She was using him to prove something to herself—to her family—and the more time she spent with him, the worse it felt.
She could admit it to him now. They’d opened up to each other; it would be the perfect time.
But what if she told him about the family heirloom and he pulled away? She’d lose him and any chance of retrieving her grandmother’s Dutch oven. She might even lose her job if he took enough offense.
There was a slight chance he’d help restore the pot to Grandma Mabel. But was it worth the risk of losing it all?
“Talk to me,” he said, torso leaning toward her on the couch.
Daphne bit her lip. There was something between them, but what if it was just the convenience of proximity, built on the shaky foundation of shared high school experience? Telling him about the pot would mean betting that this budding romance was real. It would mean trusting him to understand that it wasn’t an old cooking pot. It was a precious family heirloom that contained her grandmother’s childhood memories. It was Daphne’s one chance at proving that she wasn’t the boring, safe option that would inevitably be tossed aside when someone better came around. If she got her grandmother’s pot back, that would mean she truly belonged in her family. It would mean Pete had been wrong about her.
Could she take the risk of telling him and losing her chance? She’d been taking more risks lately, but betting on this tenuous connection with Calvin Flint seemed like more than a risk. It was reckless.
Besides, she still needed that out. If she wanted an excuse to leave the island once her project with the sheriff’s department was over, she couldn’t mess this up with Calvin. As she sat on his couch and shared secrets with him, though, it was hard to think about leaving the island at all.
Blinking, Daphne met his gaze. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing this thread of intimacy with him, even though she didn’t have the courage to tell him about her harebrained scheme. Instead, she gave him another piece of her. “I’m ashamed of myself for thinking so badly of you,” she finally replied.
His face softened, head leaning back against the cushions. His hand slid from her calf up to her knee, the warmth of it a brand through her denim. “Don’t be. Whatever you thought about me, I can promise you I thought worse. And I’m sorry I got you in trouble with Mrs. Matthews.”
Daphne snorted. “We’re going there, huh.”
His grin made it hard for Daphne to breathe. “I’ll go anywhere with you, Davis.”
It hit Daphne that she was in trouble. It was written all over the teasing smile on Calvin’s lips, paired with the tenderness in his gaze. She felt trouble lurking in her heated blood, pulsing in her wrists and neck and core. The longer she spent with this man, the harder it became to resist him.
Even when he brought up the main reason she’d cursed his name for nearly two decades.
Halfway through senior year, Calvin had copied from her during a math exam. It should have been an automatic failure for both of them, and Daphne had had to beg and plead to be allowed to retake the exam, since a failure would have cost her a lot more than a bad grade. Her scholarships—at the time, her whole future—depended on top academic performance.
After teasing her relentlessly all year, Flint hadn’t seemed remorseful in the slightest that he’d almost cost her everything. She’d hated him with a passion from then on.
As the memory resurfaced, a gust of breath left Daphne’s nose. What had seemed so important to seventeen-year-old Daphne now seemed inconsequential. “I was so mad at you for so long. I cursed your name anytime I thought of you for years.”
Interest sparked in his gaze. “Are you saying,” he asked slowly, “that you kept thinking about me all this time?”
“Don’t sound so smug,” Daphne shot back, but her cheeks were flaming.
“I didn’t know I’d left such an impression.”
“I’ll never hear the end of this now.”
He laughed, his thumb stroking the inside of her knee. “‘Daphne Davis was obsessed with me for years,’” he mused. “Sounds pretty nice when I say it out loud.”
Clicking her tongue, Daphne reached over to pinch the underside of his arm. When he yelped and jerked back, she harrumphed. “‘Obsessed’ isn’t the right word, Flint. More like ‘extremely spiteful.’”
“Better than being forgotten.” His smile was broad and unrepentant.
“You’re the most annoying man I’ve ever met.”
He beamed at her like she’d just paid him the compliment of a lifetime. Daphne’s heart couldn’t take much more of this. She swallowed past a lump in her throat, wondering what they were doing. What this meant. Tearing her gaze away from him, she fiddled with a stray thread on the seam of the couch. It took a while to start breathing properly again.
When Calvin finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I’m sorry, Daphne. I shouldn’t have copied off your paper. I’d studied, you know. I’m sure I could have passed on my own, but I was a bitter little shit who didn’t care who I hurt. You didn’t deserve to be taken down to the gutter with me.”
All at once, Daphne saw him clearly. His strength. His spirit. His independence. It took bravery and humility to admit that he was wrong, and he did it without hesitation. Nineteen years later, he wanted to make sure that she knew he’d taken responsibility for his mistakes. He didn’t just brush it under the rug. He owned up to it, even if it had only been a high school math test.
There was so much about this man that she admired. So much she wanted to discover. Not only that, but Daphne wanted to burrow into his heart and heal all the hurts that life had dealt him. She wanted to be the one he knew he could rely on when there was no one else.
For the first time since she’d broken up with her ex, Daphne wanted a man, and it wasn’t only physical. She wanted to mean something to him. Wanted him to mean something to her.
And she was terrified.