Candlelight & Confessions #4
She gasps, clutching her chest dramatically. “Sir, I am a woman of my word!”
“For your sake, I hope so. I take my pancakes very seriously.”
She laughs. “And you’re absolutely sharing.”
“I will bite your finger if you come near my pancakes, woman.”
“You promise?” She purrs.
And just like that, my pants twitch. Because ordinarily, yes. Yes, this would be a promise. A prelude to a night that begins with licking and biting and sucking—stop it!
Eslin tugs me into a small diner, the bright lights and clinking dishes snapping me back to reality—just in time to catch my thoughts before they drag me down a path paved with nothing but destruction and debauchery.
A path I was dangerously close to following because…you should really see this woman.
The hostess at the all night diner we walk into immediately leads us to a booth and Eslin is walking ahead of me.
“I’m going to need you to stop making comments like that. Tempting me. I’ve been on my best behavior for you tonight,” I murmur under my breath, just loud enough so she can hear me.
Her head snaps back to me, not missing a step as we follow behind the hostess. “I really wish you wouldn’t have told me that.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why?”
We sit at the booth that is at the back of the diner and the hostess announces that she’ll be back with water for the both of us.
“Because,” Eslin whispers, staring me deep in my eyes. “I’ve sort of got this thing for bad boys.”
My ears, and something else, perks up. “Oh yeah? Any particular reason why?”
“Blame it on my wayward upbringing and a lifetime of daddy issues.”
“Lucky me,” I say playfully.
She shrugs. “Except, you’re on your best behavior or whatever, so...”
I suck in a tortured breath. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“You did. And now you have me curious about what I’m missing.”
I lick my lips. “You know what they say about curiosity?”
She raises a brow. “That it killed the cat, right?”
I lean in, making sure only she can hear me. “Yes, but not before the cat was licked, sucked and played with.”
“Mmm,” she moans. “But you’re on your best behavior.”
I shift in my seat. “I am.”
“Again…pity.”
And I can’t hold it in anymore. I do the thing that I rarely do—I blurt something out.
“How old are you, Eslin?”
She blinks, a little surprised by the question. But then answers without hesitation. “Thirty-one.”
And with that answer—my entire world crashes down around me.
“Why? How old are you?” she asks, her eyes narrowing just a little, reading me.
“I’m forty-six,” I say, voice steady but firm. “Fifteen damn years between us.”
She tilts her head, unphased, and flashes me a mischievous grin. “That is significant. But again...” she playfully points to herself. “Daddy issues!”
I can’t help it—despite everything swirling in my head, I smile and shake my head. She’s impossible not to smile at. Impossible to resist.
And that might just be my biggest problem.
Yeah, she’s grown. Mature beyond her years. Sharp, grounded, knows who she is. No question there. But the moment I heard her say her age, something inside me shifted.
Through ordering food, the easy flow of playful banter, even the flirtation that keeps skimming dangerously close to that invisible line—we keep talking, but I can’t stop the loop playing in my head.
The gap. Not just in years. In life. In experience. She’s closer to Marlow’s age than she is to mine. And suddenly, I feel every single one of those fifteen years press heavy on my chest.
Then the ugliest thought creeps in—one I can’t shake. What if the reason I’m so drawn to her has nothing to do with who she is... and everything to do with what she represents?
Young. Temporary. Easy to lose.
The very things I’ve clung to, to keep from wanting something real with anyone after Maddy. Exactly what I promised Marlow I’d stop chasing.
Finally, I can no longer hide my expression. “Why does it look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Eslin asks. Her voice is gentle, but her eyes are sharp. Intuitive.
I try to laugh it off, but the sound is hollow. Forced. “My daughter’s just a few years younger than you.”
She frowns, thoughtful. “And the age difference bothers you?”
I drag in a breath. “Me? No. Her? Definitely.”
She studies me for a beat, her gaze piercing. “And you don’t want to fracture your relationship with her for something that—”
“—should stay in Vegas,” I finish for her.
She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to convince me otherwise. And damn if that doesn’t make me respect her even more.
When the check comes, I refuse to let her pay. But true to who she’s been all night, she slips a wad of cash onto the table and insists on covering the tip. Stubborn.
The young ones usually are.
We walk again, quiet but connected, the streets slowly waking around us. We’re near the hotel and club where we first met when the first light of dawn creeps in. The Strip softens beneath the sunrise—Vegas shedding its shine for the day.
And then... she lets my hand go.
In that moment, I know.
After the best damn night of my life, I have to let her go too.
No phone number. No first or last kiss. No empty promises.
Just... goodbye.