Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dominic
I read the text from Harper that just came through.
Harp: On our way home. We ran into Reed and his girlfriend last night and invited them over for a bonfire tonight, you can invite Ethan and Logan too.
I'm glad to know they're okay. Skye hasn't responded to my last text.
I probably freaked her out—I know I got a little carried away, but fuck, she brings it out of me.
When it comes to her, I have no self-control.
Not a feeling I'm used to. The architect who plans everything down to the millimeter, suddenly incapable of restraint.
It's unsettling. Dangerous. And somehow impossible to regret when I think of those green-gold eyes widening at my words.
Me: See you soon, I'll text them and see if they are free.
I hit send then shoot a text off in our group chat.
Me: You guys busy tonight?
Ethan: Depends on what you're asking for. I don't want to watch movies with you fuckers again.
Logan: Bro it was a documentary and there's nothing wrong with a little Netflix and chill.
Ethan: I don't want to watch TV with the boys. I reserve that activity for the ladies.
Logan: Ha! What ladies are you watching TV with? Last I checked you only have hook ups and you never bring them home.
Ethan: It was a general statement fucker! I'll watch TV with a woman when I find the right one. Plus you're no better, man whore.
Logan: Hey!
Logan: Wait! That's fair.
Me: Are you kids done?
Ethan: Yeah, I'm done with his ass, what was the question again?
Logan: You can't quit me, you love me!
Ethan: Shut up Dom is talking.
Me: The girls invited Reed and his girlfriend to a bonfire tonight, you guys down?
Ethan: Wait my son? How did that happen? And yeah I'll be there, what time?
Logan: Hell yeah I'm down, you think Skye will put on another show?
I stare at Logan's text, my jaw tightening until I feel the muscle twitch.
The memory of her dancing and singing when I came home drunk on Friday plays in my mind—I want those moves just for me.
The sway of her hips, the flush on her cheeks, the way her body moved, like she was born for it.
Mine. The thought of Logan or anyone else enjoying the view makes something primal and possessive rise in my chest, clawing at my ribs, demanding action.
Me: You're uninvited.
Dom removed Logan from the group chat
Me: That's better.
Me: Apparently they ran into them at a club last night and invited them over.
Ethan: LMAO! Cool let me know what time.
Me: Six ish?
Ethan: See you then.
I toss my phone on the couch and rub my hand over my face, pressing against the tension headache forming behind my eyes.
There's a tightness in my shoulders that hasn't left since I first laid eyes on Skye.
I'm not used to wanting someone this badly—to the point where I'm sending explicit texts detailing all the filthy things I want to do to her.
The texts I shouldn't be sending to my daughter's best friend.
Texts that cross every line I've ever drawn for myself.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway catches my attention.
I move to the window and see the Uber. Both girls climbing out.
My eyes lock on Skye immediately—the curve of her hip as she stretches after the drive, the slight bounce of her hair as she laughs at something Harper says.
Even in casual clothes, she steals my breath.
The sunlight catches on her nose ring, that tiny rebellion that makes me want to discover every other secret she's hiding.
I step away from the window, trying to get myself under control.
My hands flex at my sides, remembering the feel of her beneath them.
Tonight I'll have to watch her, be near her, smell her scent, all while pretending there's nothing between us.
All while Reed and his girlfriend, Ethan, Logan, Harper—everyone—is watching.
A test of will that I'm not confident I'll pass.
Logan: Invite me back
Me: No
I walk to the kitchen to fill up an ice chest for the beach bonfire.
We'll need plenty of drinks if we're hosting everyone tonight.
As I round the corner, I spot Skye sitting at the dining room table, iPad propped up in front of her.
She's on FaceTime, completely absorbed in conversation, unaware of my presence.
I pause, watching her. We still haven't spoken since the texts.
The uncertainty gnaws at me—did I cross a line?
Is she freaking out? Does she want to call the whole thing off?
I should back away, give her privacy, but I'm rooted to the spot, desperate for any insight into what's going on in her head.
The way the sunlight catches her profile makes my chest tighten.
Something about her has crawled under my skin in a way I haven't experienced in years—maybe ever.
"I've been getting a lot of sketches done here," she says, her voice light and melodic. "Everything is so beautiful I can't help but put it on paper. The coastline, especially at sunset—the colors are incredible."
"Send me some pictures of them," a younger male voice responds. Must be Justin. I continue my task, grabbing beers and waters from the refrigerator, layering them methodically with ice in the chest, trying to look casual while straining to hear the conversation.
"Who's that?" a woman asks from the iPad, her voice carrying across the space between us.
"That's Mr. Grayson, Harper's dad," Skye explains, glancing over at me with those green eyes that seem to see right through my carefully constructed walls.
"Oh," the woman says, then whispers not quite softly enough, "he's cute."
"Mom!" Skye protests, her cheeks flushing that delicious pink that makes me want to see how far down that blush extends. I can't help but chuckle at her embarrassment.
Skye turns toward me fully now, that soft blush deepening on her cheeks. "Dom? Want to come meet my mom and brother?"
The invitation surprises me. It feels intimate, personal—a glimpse into her life beyond these walls.
I walk into the dining room and stand behind Skye's chair, close enough to catch her scent—that sweet floral scent that drives me wild.
My fingers itch to touch her shoulder, to establish some physical connection, but I resist.
"Mom, this is Mr. Grayson. And this is my mom, Stephanie," she says, gesturing to the screen where a woman with the same light brown hair and spattering of freckles smiles back.
I lean down slightly to get in frame, acutely aware of how close my face is to Skye's. "Nice to meet you. Call me Dom."
"Thank you so much for having my daughter this summer," Stephanie says warmly. "She really needed the vacation. She works too hard at home, always taking care of everything."
"She's welcome here anytime," I respond, meaning it more than I should. The thought of her leaving at summer's end creates an unexpected hollow feeling in my chest.
I look at the young boy partially visible in the frame, dark hair falling across his forehead. "That must be Justin?"
"Yeah. Justin, come say hi," Skye calls to him. He moves closer to the camera, dark eyes curious and assessing, studying me with the direct gaze of someone who doesn't bother with social pretenses.
"Hi," he says simply, no artifice in his greeting.
"It's nice to meet you. Skye talks about you guys all the time," I tell him, watching his expressions carefully. The people Skye loves matter to me, somehow, already.
He groans dramatically, rolling his eyes. "What did she tell you? All the embarrassing stuff probably."
"She raves about your art and says you want to be a paleontologist," I say, watching his expression brighten instantly, his entire demeanor shifting from cautious to engaged.
"Do you like art?" he asks, direct and curious, leaning closer to the camera.
"I do, but I only draw for work," I answer honestly, appreciating his straightforwardness. "Technical drawings mostly—buildings, layouts, structural details."
"What do you do?"
"I'm an architect."
His eyes widen with genuine interest. "That's really cool. Do you design big buildings? Skyscrapers?"
"Yeah sometimes and you would probably be good at it. Skye told me about your cityscapes," I add, remembering her proud description of her brother's talents.
"You want to see?" he asks eagerly, already reaching for something off-screen.
"Yeah," I nod and pull a chair up next to Skye to see the screen better, acutely aware of how close we are now. Our thighs almost touch, and the heat radiating from her body is maddening. She smells like sunshine and something sweet and summer days.
Justin shows me several drawings, each one impressive—meticulous attention to detail, excellent perspective for someone his age.
The buildings have personality, character—not just structures but stories.
I feel Skye's eyes on me the whole time, watching my reactions, gauging my response to this person she so clearly adores.
"Alright," his mom interrupts after the fifth or sixth drawing, "if you want to go eat, you need to go get ready. Grandma's waiting."
"Okay," Justin says, looking reluctant to end our impromptu art show. "It was nice to meet you. Maybe I can show you more later?"
"You too. Definitely—I'd like to see more of your work."
As he walks off-screen, he calls back, "I like him," causing both Skye and her mom to laugh. A strange warmth spreads through my chest at the simple approval.
I feel Skye's hand land softly on my thigh, just above my knee, and the relief that washes through me is immense. Maybe she isn't avoiding me after all. Her touch is light but deliberate, a silent message I desperately want to interpret correctly.
"Well, it was nice meeting you, Dom," Stephanie says with a knowing smile that makes me wonder just how much mothers can intuit through a video call.
"It was nice to meet the woman who raised such an amazing girl," I respond, the compliment sincere despite its potential to reveal too much.
"Shh, don't let her hear you say that. I don't need her getting a bigger head," Stephanie jokes, and I chuckle, though I privately think Skye could use more recognition of her worth.
"Well, I need to get ready for dinner, so I'll talk to you all later."
"I love you, Mom," Skye says, her voice softening with genuine affection.
"Love you too, Hun. Be good and safe. I'll talk to you in a day or two."
"Okay, bye," Skye ends the call, the screen going dark.
I place my hand over hers, still resting on my thigh, and we sit in silence for a moment. The connection between us feels electric, even in this small touch. Her fingers are delicate beneath mine, but I can feel the strength in them—artist's hands, capable and creative.
"About last night," I begin, finally ready to address the texts that have been haunting me since I sent them. Her eyes meet mine, unguarded for once, and I see a vulnerability there that makes me want to pull her into my arms.
"Helloooo! Where is everyone?" Harper's voice calls from the front door, shattering the moment. We quickly remove our hands, and I stand up, returning my chair to its proper spot, my body already missing Skye's warmth.
"In here," I call back, meeting Skye's eyes for one brief, heated moment before Harper appears. That single look contains everything we haven't said—desire, uncertainty, and something deeper that neither of us is ready to name.