Chapter 13
Scott felt Dina’s heart beating against his chest, and the slow rise and fall of her breath. Her mountain of curls spilled over the pillow, tickling him—he didn’t care. She had wriggled herself closer until she was essentially on top of him, her thigh and arm thrown over him, her face tucked into the curve of his shoulder. When Scott’s alarm rang and he woke to find himself alone in a cold bed, he groaned. Dina was invading his dreams now—how was he ever going to find peace again now this woman was in his life?
He thought about last night. What had happened? They definitely would have kissed if it hadn’t been for Martin’s interruption. But then Dina had run off into the woods, and he hadn’t heard her enter the cottage until an hour or so later, deep into the quiet hours of the night.
What had changed in that split second? The way she had been with him, that look she had given him as she’d read his palm, as if she wanted to climb into his lap. He’d barely been able to keep his hands off her. It would have been so easy to pull her to him, to slip his hand under the folds of her dress, tugging aside whatever lacy thing she had on underneath. She would have felt soft and warm against him, he was sure of it. So what had changed?
Scott dressed with his mind in a haze, running his fingers through the knots in his hair, contemplating tying it up into a bun and then wondering what Dina’s opinions on man buns were.
He threw on a white T-shirt and knitted cream jumper, jeans, and boots. Immy and Eric had planned a day full of activities for the wedding party, starting with a scavenger hunt in the main house later that morning and some kind of mysterious outdoor activity that afternoon.
Scott walked out into the main living area of the cottage. It smelled like butter and cinnamon and coffee—sweet, sweet coffee. The hearth wasn’t lit, yet the cottage was toasty warm. The pale morning light filtered in through the windows, and outside the trees were alive with birdsong. There was clattering coming from the kitchen.
Scott turned the corner to see Dina muttering to herself, bending over something on the counter that was obscured from his view. He leaned against the wall, arms folded. He could watch her bending over like that all day. He felt himself growing hard in his jeans.
“Oh, you’re awake!” Dina squealed as she turned around. She was wearing a frilly apron and her face was smudged with flour. “I thought I had at least five more minutes before you came out.”
“Five more minutes for what?”
The sweet frown on her forehead and the way she was obscuring what was behind her made him crack a smile. She was just so damn cute. Dina grinned and patted one of the high chairs by the kitchen counter as she walked over to the stove.
He looked down. A mug of steaming coffee had appeared before him, and he wasn’t sure how it had got there. He must be more tired than he thought.
“This is my way of saying sorry for last night. I just…wasn’t feeling myself. And when I feel like that, I like to bake. It helps clear my head,” Dina said, setting down two plates in front of them.
It looked mouth-wateringly good.
“Dina, these look amazing. I’ve never seen pancakes like this before.”
“They’re called baghrir. Kind of halfway between a crumpet and a crepe. And I also made some chocolate rye bread and strawberry jam, from scratch, because I was feeling indecisive.” That would explain the delicious berry scent in the air then.
“Thank you,” he said, reaching out to rub flour off the tip of her nose. She went still as he touched her, his hand moving and cupping her cheek.
“No one has ever made breakfast for me before, Dina,” Scott said.
His heart thrummed dangerously in his chest, so loud he was sure she could hear it. Almost imperceptibly, she pressed her cheek into his palm, resting her face in his hand. He could have stayed like that forever.
“You have to add butter and honey to the baghrir, it’s the best way to eat it,” Dina said, breaking Scott’s gaze. The way she smiled at him sent a jolt straight to his heart.
“Aye aye, Captain.” Scott winked, reaching out for the butter. “Now I know you bake like this, I’ll be in that café every morning.”
Dina sat beside Scott, rolling her baghrir and eating it with coffee. Scott tried to focus on his breakfast, but he couldn’t. He could barely eat, even though every mouthful was utterly delicious.
“I’minheffen,” he muttered with a mouth full of baghrir. “Seriously, this might be the best breakfast I’ve ever had.”
He’d forgotten how it felt, being with someone like this—the giddy feeling in his chest. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to spend more mornings with Dina, waking up in their bed, eating breakfast together in a sunny kitchen before he pulled her onto his lap. Imagining a future was a dangerous thing, but for a short time, Scott let himself revel in the idea ofit.
“Are you heading to the house this morning?” he asked.
“Eventually. But I need to finish baking the cinnamon rolls for tomorrow. One of my many maid-of-honor duties.” She grinned, pointing at the trays of cinnamon rolls that were waiting their turn in the oven.
“Looks like you’ve done most of the hard work already, but I’m happy to help with whatever’s left.” Scott pulled off his jumper, revealing his tattooed arms. Dina swallowed audibly.
“You want to help?” She tilted her head to look at him appraisingly.
“If you’ll let me.”
She didn’t need asking twice. She hurried around the kitchen, bossing Scott around for the next twenty minutes. He adored every second of it, seeing Dina in her element.
“No, here, like this,” she said, taking hold of his wrist and showing him the correct way to mix the icing so that he didn’t whip too much air into it. Her fingertips rested on his forearms and he wished she would trail them higher.
When Dina bent over to take the final tray of baked cinnamon buns out of the oven, he almost groaned aloud. Her top had ridden up, displaying two dimples at the base of her back. He wanted to lick them.
When she placed the tray down on the counter and glanced over at him, he was sure the hunger was written all over his face. At some point in the last hour—really, since he’d woken up and discovered Dina had made him breakfast—his brain had stopped working. All he wanted was Dina.
He watched her in silence as she drizzled the icing glaze over the buns. The sugary, buttery scent wafted through the air, and Scott wondered if Dina would taste like that too. Like sweetness and spice.
“Do you want to try some icing?” she asked softly.
Scott moved closer to her, closer than he needed to be. Instead of taking a spoon, Dina ran her finger through the leftover icing in the bowl and held itup.
Scott took her finger in his mouth, licking firmly with his tongue. She tasted like sweet lemon and vanilla. All the while, Scott held Dina’s gaze, saw the same fire he felt stoked in her too.
Ever so slowly, she pulled her finger back from the warmth of his mouth.
“You taste good,” he said. He couldn’t wait another moment.
Scott ran his hand through Dina’s hair, coming to rest at the back of her neck, his other arm moving around her waist. Pulling her closer. They were chest to chest now; he could feel the heat of her breath on his mouth.
Scott bent down, inches away from her mouth. A question.
“We said just friends,” Dina whispered.
Just friends. And he’d gone and messed it up by trying to kiss her. Scott pulled away, his arms falling to his sides.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Just friends,” he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
Dina didn’t step away and looked very much like she was fighting some kind of internal battle. Give in, he thought, let me kiss you. But she had said “just friends,” and Scott would respect Dina’s wishes. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be thinking about this for a long time.