Chapter 6 Riley
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Riley
The wine bar had emptied out, leaving behind the pleasant wreckage of a successful book club night. Empty glasses, crumbs everywhere, the warm buzz of a good evening lingering in the air.
I stood near the bar, pretending to organize my tote bag while actually watching Thessa and Jade in the corner booth.
They were practically horizontal at this point, Thessa’s blonde head tilted toward Jade’s brown curls, whispering something that made Jade giggle and cover her mouth.
When Thessa leaned closer and whispered directly into Jade’s ear, Jade’s cheeks went pink and she swatted at Thessa’s arm, but she didn’t move away. Not even a little.
I suppressed a grin. Go get it, girl.
Jade hadn’t looked this relaxed around anyone in years.
She was usually so focused on her kindergarteners, on lesson plans and parent-teacher conferences and the forty-seven different allergies she had to memorize.
Her love life had been nonexistent since that disaster with the accountant two years ago.
So seeing her giggle and blush like a teenager? I was here for it.
I liked Thessa. The woman was chaotic and weird, but she was also warm and genuine in a way that was hard to fake. Beautiful too, all golden hair and bright eyes and a smile that could charm the pants off anyone. Just like her brother.
Speaking of which.
My gaze drifted across the room to where Caelan was gathering empty wine glasses with the focus of a surgeon performing a delicate operation.
He was stacking them carefully, methodically, carrying them toward the kitchen like he’d done this a hundred times.
Which he hadn’t. He’d known me for approximately one week.
But the moment I mentioned we needed to clean up before leaving, he’d stood up without a word, rolled his sleeves to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle that should be illegal, and started collecting glasses.
I watched him disappear into the kitchen with another armful.
Margo appeared at my elbow, already shrugging on her coat. “You’re staring.”
I jerked my gaze away. “I’m not.”
“Uh-huh.” Margo pulled me into a goodbye hug, then lowered her voice. “Go check if the glasses are all in one piece. And by glasses, I mean that man’s intentions.”
“Margo...”
“He’s too pretty to be innocent.” Margo pulled back, eyebrow raised. “Trust me. I’ve divorced enough of them to know.”
She left, and I rolled my eyes but felt the weight of her advice settle on my shoulders. I glanced toward the kitchen door.
I should probably go help, make sure he hadn’t broken anything. Purely professional interest.
I spotted a few straggler glasses on the table near Sloane, who had passed out on a couch with one arm thrown dramatically over her face, black-painted lips parted in soft snores.
I tiptoed over, collected the glasses as quietly as possible, and padded toward the kitchen.
Sloane was terrifying when woken unexpectedly.
I pushed through the swinging door and stopped dead.
The view from behind was... it was fine. It was totally fine.
Caelan was standing at the industrial sink, sleeves still rolled to his elbows, broad back shifting under his sweater as he washed a glass.
Water ran over his hands, big hands, capable hands, hands that could probably snap a man in half but were currently cradling a wine glass as if it was made of spun sugar.
His forearms flexed with each movement. A tendon in his wrist caught the light.
His shoulders were impossibly wide, tapering down to a narrow waist, and even through the sweater I could see the definition of muscle.
My mouth went dry.
This was ridiculous. He was doing dishes. It was domestic, mundane. It was not sexy.
So why the hell did I find it so hot?
I needed professional help, the kind with degrees and certifications and the ability to explain why watching a man wash dishes made me feel like I was overheating.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, and my voice came out slightly strangled.
“I know.” He didn’t turn around or startle, just kept washing, completely at ease, as if he’d known I was there. Huh. Did he hear me? “But watching you try to do it yourself would have been painful.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve been rearranging your bag for twenty minutes instead of cleaning.” Now he glanced over his shoulder, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “I decided to take pity on you.”
“I was organizing.”
“It’s fine,” he turned back to the sink. “I don’t mind doing the hard work.”
I gaped at his back. “The hard work? You’re washing glasses.”
“Precisely. Very difficult. Requires skill and dedication.”
Was he teasing me? He was teasing me. The intense, brooding Australian was making fun of me.
“You’re insufferable,” I said, moving further into the kitchen and setting my glasses on the counter near the sink.
“And yet here you are.” He shut off the water and turned to face me, giving me his full attention.
Water droplets clung to his fingers. His sweater had a wet spot on the stomach where he’d leaned against the counter.
He looked like a domestic fantasy come to life, and the smirk hadn’t left his face. “Seeking out my company.”
“I came to help.”
“Did you?” His gray eyes held mine, steady and knowing. “Or did you come to watch me work?”
My cheeks burned. “You’re very full of yourself.”
“I’m very observant.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, biceps straining against his sleeves. “There’s a difference.”
I studied him, the openness of his expression under the teasing, the way he stood there like he had nothing to hide.
But everyone had something to hide, Damien taught me that.
“What do you want?” I asked bluntly.
The smirk faded. Surprise flickered across his face. “What do you mean?”
“You show up at my signing. You crash my book club. You wash my dishes.” I crossed my arms over my chest, a barrier. “What’s your angle?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he stepped toward me, not threatening, just closer, and his voice dropped lower. “I’m new in town. I don’t know anyone. And I thought maybe...” He paused, his gaze dropping to my mouth for just a second before snapping back up. “...you could be my friend.”
Friend.
The word hung between us, and my stomach did something complicated. I didn’t believe him, though I wanted to. So I decided to test this “friend” theory.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Friends.”
His whole face lit up. The intensity softened into something almost boyish, like a golden retriever who just got told he was a good boy. I should not find this so attractive.
“Okay?” He sounded surprised, like he expected more resistance and had prepared arguments and counterarguments and maybe a PowerPoint presentation.
“Don’t look so shocked. I’m very friendly.” I moved toward the sink, hip-checking him as I passed. “Move. I’ll wash, you dry.”
He shifted aside, but not far enough. Now we were standing shoulder to shoulder at the counter, close enough that I could feel heat radiating off him. Close enough that when I reached for the faucet, my elbow brushed his arm.
The contact sent a jolt of awareness through me. Every nerve ending in my body suddenly focused on the point where we’d touched. The world shifted for a moment, reality snapping into sharper focus, and I had to grip the edge of the sink to steady myself.
What the hell was that?
“You okay?” His voice was close to my ear, amused. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Fine,” I managed. “Just cold.”
“Liar.” But he didn’t push it, just picked up a towel and positioned himself beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine with every movement.
I turned on the water, started washing, pretended I was fine while being hyperaware of every inch of him.
“So,” he said, beginning to dry the glass I handed him. “Tell me about yourself.”
“That’s vague.”
“Then I’ll be specific.” He set down the dry glass, took another wet one. “What made you want to write?”
I scrubbed at a stubborn wine stain. “Escape, mostly. I had a weird childhood. Books were where I could be someone else. Eventually I figured out I could create those worlds myself.”
“What kind of weird?”
“The dead parents, raised by a godmother, never quite fitting in anywhere kind.” I kept my voice light, like it didn’t still hurt. “Classic orphan backstory. Very Disney.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It made me interesting.” I handed him another glass, and our fingers brushed. Neither of us pulled away quickly. “What about you? What’s your tragic backstory?”
“What makes you think I have one?”
“Everyone does.” I glanced at him sideways. “We’re all traumatized here.”
He laughed, a low, warm sound that made my spine tingle. “Fair point.” He was quiet for a moment, drying the glass. “I have responsibilities. Expectations. My family needs things from me that I’m not always sure I can give. I came here to escape that for a while.”
“To Lysmont? Of all places?”
“Yes. I wasn’t lying when I said I found something interesting here, and I don’t feel like going away right now.”
The way he said it made my stomach flip.
“What caught your attention?” I asked, not looking at him. “The world’s best grocery store? The fascinating parking situation?”
“Something better.” His voice dropped, and I could feel his gaze on the side of my face. “Though the parking situation is riveting.”
I risked a glance. He was already looking at me, his gray eyes dark in the kitchen lighting. I could see myself reflected in them.
“You’re deflecting,” I said.
“So are you.” He held my gaze. “We can both pretend we don’t know what I’m talking about. If that makes you more comfortable.”
My heart was pounding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar,” he said again, softer this time, almost fond. Good gods.
We were on the last few glasses when Caelan asked, too casually: “Are you seeing anyone?”
My hand slipped.