Chapter 31
Chapter 31
That night, Daphne got very little sleep. She and Calvin existed in a cocoon of tenderness and pleasure, speaking in touches rather than words. Rain pattered on the roof through the night as their cries filled the room, exhaustion finally overtaking them only a few hours before dawn.
Waking up next to Calvin filled Daphne with sweetness. She ran her fingers through his chest hair and nuzzled at his neck, loving the way his hand trailed up and down the dip of her waist. Her knee was slotted between his legs, the scent of him embedded in her skin. She was happier than she remembered ever feeling.
“Morning,” Calvin mumbled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His hand slid from her waist down to her ass, squeezing her curves before stroking back up to her ribs. He touched her like he couldn’t get enough of her, and Daphne never wanted him to stop.
“Morning,” she replied. She pressed a kiss to the soft skin just below his stubble, embers of desire flaring to life despite her tiredness.
Maybe once she wasn’t in the same room as him, she would regret taking this leap. Maybe when his scent and touch and kiss weren’t drugging influences on her rationality, Daphne would be able to think about the consequences of jumping into bed with the man who’d unraveled her so easily and so completely.
But his fingers trailed over her skin, and his chest rose and fell with his breaths, and with slow, gentle coaxing, he nudged her legs apart so he could feel what he did to her, his fingers already knowing the patterns of her pleasure as they slid to where she needed them most.
She’d lost her mind, and she didn’t care.
They made it to work only fifteen minutes late, and Daphne hoped their night together wasn’t stamped on their faces. She scurried to the fluorescent lights of her interview room and buried herself in financial records to clear her mind of more pleasant things.
For the first time since she’d started this job, Daphne struggled to focus. She couldn’t find that state of flow where her mind latched on to numbers, where finding patterns became easy. Her gaze kept drifting to the open doorway to catch glimpses of Calvin. Her ears perked when she heard the rumble of his voice.
She had it bad, and it should have made alarm bells ring in her mind.
Unfortunately, her mind was occupied by dreaming of the moment she’d get to go home with him.
Those daydreams were interrupted by the arrival of Grandma Mabel. Daphne glanced up from her work when she heard her grandmother’s voice, and a moment later, the old woman herself appeared in the doorway. With a crafty grin, Mabel glanced over her shoulder and shuffled inside. She closed the door to Daphne’s office and came around to give Daphne a tight hug. “Look what I got,” she said, and she pulled out her phone and turned it toward Daphne.
A photo from Eileen Yarrow’s kitchen stared back at Daphne. Specifically, it was the blurry photo she’d originally sent of the corner cabinet—except it was now crystal clear. Taking the phone, Daphne zoomed in. “How?”
“The magic of artificial intelligence!”
Daphne blinked and glanced at her grandmother. “Okay. But ... how?”
Mabel’s grin was self-satisfied, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Our tech guy did it. He explained how the computer uses complicated algorithms to restore images. He said it might not be entirely accurate, but Daphne! This is it! This is my mother’s pot!”
There were so many things Daphne wanted to clarify in her grandmother’s statement, so she started at the beginning. “Tech guy? What tech guy? You haven’t been poking around the dark web, have you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Grandma Mabel said, then pulled a chair from the corner and plopped herself down on it. “I’m ninety percent sure this is the pot, Daphne. Eighty percent, minimum. The shape, the size, even those little ripples on the lid and the shape of the handle—it’s got to be! And in just a few more days, we’re going to get it back. All thanks to you.”
Daphne huffed a laugh as she pushed the phone away. A needle of discomfort pierced her breastbone at the thought of performing a heist for an old cooking pot after what had happened between Calvin and her. She should tell him about it, shouldn’t she?
But her grandmother was looking at her with bright eyes, and Daphne couldn’t disappoint the older woman. It was so rare that Daphne got this type of attention, that she felt seen in a way that wasn’t related to drudgery or responsibility. She had gotten lots of praise for getting good grades and doing her chores. She’d been patted on the head for being her boring old self her whole life. But she’d never been included. She’d never belonged. Not like this.
She’d gone out on a limb for Calvin, and now she wanted to do the same for her grandmother. It wasn’t good enough to hide all the messy parts of herself away. She wanted to show Grandma Mabel that there was more to her than being good.
Calvin never had to find out ... did he? Or she could find some way to explain about the pot if it came up. Besides, how smart would it be to tell the island sheriff that she was planning to steal something from his very own mother?
Telling him was the right thing to do. But wasn’t she sick of always doing the right thing? Ellie got away with all kinds of mischief just because she had the guts to try. Couldn’t Daphne be like her sister this one time? Didn’t Daphne have the right to be the hero for once?
She cared about Calvin—probably more than she should. But at the back of her mind, she knew that this tryst between them had to end. He’d realize that she didn’t always get in the way of cashbox thieves and feral pickup truck aficionados. He’d realize he’d been wrong about her, and he’d walk away. They always did.
But her family loved her. They always had. Getting her grandmother’s heirloom back was a small rebellion that would finally make her feel like she was part of the Davis clan.
“Are you ready, honey?” Grandma Mabel asked, her eyes still shining as she smiled.
Daphne ignored her discomfort and nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Good. Let’s go over the plan.”
There wasn’t much of a plan, but Daphne sat with her grandmother for a few minutes, talking about escape routes and drop zones for the pot. It was ridiculous. She knew it was ridiculous. The whole thing was absurd. She’d either succeed in getting her grandmother’s cast-iron pot back, or she’d humiliate herself in an ugly dress.
But for the first time in a long time—maybe ever—Daphne felt close to her grandmother. The true closeness of a shared secret. It was almost as addictive as Calvin’s presence, and Daphne had already indulged in her whims once; why not do it again?
Half an hour later, Grandma Mabel winked at Daphne and poked her head out the door as if to check if the coast was clear. Daphne couldn’t help her smile as her grandmother shuffled out, offering cheerful greetings that were meant to distract from their clandestine plans.
“What was that all about?” Calvin asked, his shoulder propped against the doorframe.
Daphne leaned back in her chair and let her gaze trail over his shoulders and chest, ignoring the guilt of her secret. He didn’t really know her. Didn’t really care about her. How could he, when he thought she was so much more than she was? It was better for Daphne to do this for her family. “Just Grandma being Grandma,” she said.
He huffed, a soft smile teasing at the corners of his lips. “Got you this,” he said, moving his hand out from where he’d hidden it behind the doorframe. He held out a pint of ice cream, identical to the one that had appeared on her desk two weeks earlier.
Daphne straightened. “It was you! You’re the one who left me ice cream the other day.”
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Who did you think it was?”
“I thought Rhonda Roberts was apologizing for spreading rumors about us.”
Snorting, Calvin crossed the distance to her desk and set the pint on top of it. Daphne cracked it open and smiled. “Mint chip. How did you notice the flavor I was eating in the dark on the side of the road?”
“I didn’t,” Calvin said, heading for the door again. “But you told me it was your favorite once in senior year.” He glanced over his shoulder to grin at her, then disappeared around the corner.
She stared at the pint until her fingers were numb with cold from holding it. He’d remembered an inconsequential detail about her from a couple of decades ago. What if ...
What if he did care? What if this thing between them wasn’t as doomed as she’d thought?
Then her grandmother sent her a text that said Love you, honey , and Daphne set the ice cream aside.
Daphne was able to complete her report by Friday afternoon, the day before the vow renewal. She’d checked all the financial records and found nothing suspicious, apart from the renovation payments. Now it was up to the police to root out whoever was behind the lost money and falsified invoices. Daphne had done her job.
As she emailed her report to the man she couldn’t wait to be alone with, a wave of sadness washed over her. She was finished. Unless she had loose ends to tie up, or the department decided to hire her to do more work, there was nothing more for her to do here. The job was over.
She wouldn’t get to see her coworkers every day, or enjoy the buzz of energy in the building. She wouldn’t get to have those leaning-in-the-doorway chats with Flint, because pretty soon, they wouldn’t be working together.
No more commutes together. No more detective work. No more pit-of-the-stomach excitement at being trusted with something bigger than herself. No more Calvin Flint.
Her feet carried her to his office, where she found him frowning at his computer screen. She watched him for a few moments, an ache building in her chest.
What now? After the vow renewal tomorrow—what would happen?
Did she stay on the island? How? With what money?
She’d built up her savings and gotten her feet back under her, but she hadn’t anticipated the fact that those feet might decide to grow roots. Could she really stay here and try to make it work when she wasn’t even sure that this thing between the two of them was real?
It was based on a lie, after all. And no matter what had happened between them in the privacy of his bedroom, they hadn’t talked about a future. For all Daphne knew, Calvin might be treating this as a casual bit of fun while they had to pretend. He was a good man, but that didn’t mean he was in love with her. She was the one who had gotten carried away—again.
He glanced up, the frown clearing from his brow as he saw her. “Just reading through your report. No other bombshells,” he said. “That’s good news.”
“As long as you can figure out what’s going on with the lost payments.”
He nodded, then tilted his head. “You okay?”
Daphne forced her lips to stretch into a smile. “I’m good. I might head out early, if you don’t mind. Stretch my legs.” She nodded to the windows behind him. “First bit of sun in weeks.”
“Sure,” he said. “See you at home?”
“Yeah,” she replied, then ducked out of his office and fled. As the exit closed behind her, Daphne couldn’t help glancing back. Her gaze caught on her own reflection in the glass door, the room beyond obscured by the glare of the sun, as if whatever happened inside that building was no longer for her eyes.
For the first time in many weeks, Daphne wished for stability. She wished she had a plan. She wished she knew what she was supposed to do.
She walked through Carlisle, all the way down to the water, and watched the waves lap at the rocky shore. The afternoon ferry was already gone, and the harbor was quiet. She listened to the cries of gulls and inhaled the scent of salt and seaweed.
Her feelings for Calvin had taken her by surprise, but she couldn’t let herself get swept out to sea. The last time she’d done that, the breakup had nearly crushed her. What she needed was some sort of lifeline.
So she took out her phone and emailed her old manager in Seattle, asking if he knew of anyone who was hiring. She didn’t want to leave. Not now. Not yet.
But she needed to be responsible and figure out her next steps. It didn’t hurt to have some kind of plan. After all, she didn’t know what would happen at the event tomorrow. Once it was over and he didn’t need her anymore, would Calvin change his mind about her? Would he decide that she was too boring, after all? Would he turn around and tell her that he needed more excitement and spontaneity and passion when the fire between them eventually guttered out into something less illicit?
She hit the send button and slid her phone into her pocket. A gust of wind teased a strand of hair from her bun, and she tucked it behind her ear as she turned toward the hill that would lead her back to Flint’s place. Guilt swarmed her gut like a flood of angry hornets at the thought of the email hitting her former manager’s inbox, of the job offers that might or might not come from it.
But why should she feel guilty? She needed a job. Tapping her network for a backup plan was the smart thing to do. The responsible thing.
And Daphne was nothing if not responsible. Once tomorrow’s event was done, she’d have no reason to pretend she was anything other than exactly what she was.