15. Tess
FIFTEEN
TESS
Ian’s had a makeover. His scraggly look gave me butterflies, but this glow-up is a herd of heart-covered elephants stomping around inside me.
His beard is neatly trimmed, still thick enough to count as a full beard but short enough to reveal the sharp jawline beneath it. His hair is shorter, too, falling just to his chin. As I watch, he rakes his fingers through it, smoothing it out of his face like a cover model.
Where did all the oxygen go? Surely, I needed that.
Wren exhales the tiniest “Oh,” but my throat doesn’t want to make words. Pretty sure I’ll just start babbling about how handsome he is and how his new look is having a worrying effect on my heart rate if I do.
Seriously, this thudding in here isn’t normal.
“Welcome to Blackbird’s,” Wren says when I go on staring in silence. “How can we help you?”
Ian moves closer to where I’m standing, his gaze shifting from my sister to me. “I’m in the mood for something sweet.”
His gravelly voice has no right to sound so sinfully good. But then he makes it even worse—his mouth tips into the smallest of smiles that hits me like an arrow to my heart. Bullseye .
“You’ve come to the right place.” Wren spreads her arms at the case in front of us. “Sweet is what we do best.”
Ian nods, glancing over the pies and cupcakes before his gaze lands on me. The question there snaps me out of my dumbstruck staring. I asked for a fresh start, and now I’m being weird.
Again.
Reminding myself that a fresh start doesn’t include ogling, I introduce them. “Ian, this is my sister, Wren. Wren, this is my neighbor.”
“Ah, the neighbor,” Wren says way too knowingly. “I’ve heard all about you.”
My stomach lurches so hard, I think I strain something. Ian’s hint of a smile sinks into his familiar scowl, closing off again. Like maybe he’s wondering if I told her all about him. Which, unfortunately, I did. Grumpiness, leg, and all.
“You’ve got a big fan around here,” she adds.
This creepy, floaty feeling washes over me like I just got jabbed with a shot of whole-body novocaine. I’ve never fainted before, but this might be my first time. I’m trying to come up with some way to recover this mess—and debating where to hide Wren’s body—when she speaks up again.
“August talks about you every time I see him now.”
I breathe again, but barely. Wren shoots me a sly look as if to say, “Aren’t I clever?” No. She’s not clever, she’s the absolute worst sister I ever had, and I’m going to tell her as much in excruciating detail as soon as we’re alone again.
Ian takes a step closer to the display case. “Most of his affection is for the dog.”
“Best dog in the world, he says.”
“No argument there.”
“With the softest fur and the stinkiest breath.” She holds up her hands. “August’s words, not mine.”
“Dutch isn’t skilled with a toothbrush yet.”
Wren flashes a broad smile. “I have some work to get to in the back, but it’s great to meet you, Ian.”
With one last pointed look at me, she slips through the swinging door, leaving us alone. He just watches me, gaze so intent I have to fight to remind myself I’m trying to be normal. Polite. Neighborly.
Swooning isn’t circled on that Venn diagram.
“Is this your cheat day?” I ask.
That almost-smile returns to his face. “Something like that.”
“You got your hair cut.” Obvious, but worthy of note.
“It was time.” He rakes his fingers through it again, pulling it back until my fingers itch to do the same.
If he was Dude Thor before, now he’s Bucky Barnes in Civil War: mysterious and possibly dangerous, but high-key gorgeous. Apparently, Marvel movies are my only reference for men’s haircuts.
“Does it look okay?”
He’s asking me? The woman who stared open-mouthed at him again not five minutes ago?
“It looks great.” There. Honest without being too honest. What any good neighbor would say.
The teasing glint in his eyes doesn’t feel neighborly in the slightest. “I didn’t want to go too short and ruin the pirate look.”
I can’t help my laughter or the blush that surely pops onto my cheeks. “It still works.”
“Good.”
He looks over the pies as though that one word of praise didn’t skate across my skin like a caress.
Which is wildly inappropriate. I don’t think like this at work. Or much at all, if I’m being honest, but definitely not at work.
“Are you in the mood for anything in particular today?”
His gaze never leaves the desserts. “What’s your favorite flavor in here?”
“Today, I’d say strawberry-rhubarb. It’s the perfect blend of sweet and tart. All the fruit is locally sourced.”
“I’ll take a slice of that. And one of each of the cupcake flavors.”
I struggle to contain my happy smile. People order cupcakes every day, but a request has never made me light up like a glow stick quite like this. I set up the two paper boxes and get out one of the strawberry-rhubarb pies to slice.
“I told you I’d bring you cupcakes,” I tell him as I press the pie slicer through the crust. “I’ll give you these on the house.”
“No.”
That sharp word stops me mid-slice. I look up to find the vertical line between his furrowed brows has returned. Maybe neither of us is doing great at this fresh start. But as I watch, the line smooths out and his expression relaxes. He doesn’t quite smile, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to swat an irritating fly, either.
“I want to pay for these. You can bring me some another day. If you want.”
I’m about to argue that these cupcakes were supposed to be part of my apology package, but I realize that’s the point. He doesn’t want me bringing him something out of a sense of obligation or guilt. But the fact that he’s leaving the door open for non -apology cupcakes another day? My hopeful little heart warms.
I tilt my head as I box up his order. “Maybe I’ll bring you tester flavors some time to get your opinion. Make sure my experimental combinations don’t taste like sawdust and misery.”
“I will gladly be your guinea pig. But I doubt anything you make could taste anything other than decadent.”
Decadent . I like that. Especially when Ian says it.
He pays for the items and drops way too much cash into the tip jar. I purse my lips at him, but he’s unmoved. He gives me a quick “live with it” nod, and a lock of hair falls forward across one eye. His groan sends shivers up my spine.
“Maybe I should have gone for the buzz cut,” he says.
“It’s probably still long enough to go back in the man bun.” Not something I ever thought I’d suggest, but I’d never seen him in one before.
He leans forward a touch to take the bag from the counter, staring me straight in the eye. “Arr.”
The sound hums through me like a low growl. I shiver even as I have to laugh. The man just smirks.
Smirks . My heart is going through it today.
“I’ll see you, Tess.” He still doesn’t quite smile again, but my goodness, the warmth in his parting look is more than enough.
The second Ian disappears from view out the front window, Wren reappears at my side.
“Did he just—” she starts.
“Did you have your ear pressed to the crack in the door back there?” I like to think we’re past the spying stage, but what do I know? I haven’t had much of anything to spy on in forever.
She lays a hand over her heart. “Sound carries in here.”
Right. Not that well.
“Especially pirate-y sounds.”
I glare at her, but she’s never been swayed by a simple look. That sound was for me .
“He’s definitely got the look.” She keeps talking like I’m paying her to annoy me. “A pirate captain ready to swashbuckle the seas. Or whatever.”
“He looks like a normal man.” It’d be a lot more convincing if my voice didn’t crack when I said it.
“Mmm hmm. Are you going to admit you like him now?”
Both answers spring to my lips. Saying it in words feels like overkill, but denying it? Feels too much like a lie.
Wren sighs but still manages a smile. “Just don’t wait twenty years to admit it, okay?”