The Wrong Date on Easter (OTT Shorts #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Shane

Iadjust my tie in the hallway mirror, but the silk knot feels less like formal wear and more like a choking hazard.

The estate is already loud. The air smells of expensive lilies and the overly sweet pastries my mother insists on ordering from the city. Underneath it all, I feel the hum of a headache building behind my eyes.

I check my watch.

Twelve seconds past eleven.

My girlfriend, Emily, will be here in twenty minutes, expecting me to be the perfect, attentive partner to boost her follower count. I should be dreading the performance. Instead, my pulse is hammering against my collar because I know someone else is walking up the front steps right now.

I shouldn’t care or even notice that she’s late but I do.

Dove. My sister’s best friend. The title is a shield I’ve been hiding behind for years, a flimsy excuse to keep my hands in my pockets and my distance respectable. But that label is wearing thin.

I close my eyes for a second, and I’m not in the foyer anymore.

I’m back in the dive bar on Capitol Avenue a year and a half ago.

It was my sister Cordia’s twenty-fourth birthday, and some drunk frat boy had gotten too handsy with Dove near the pool table.

I didn’t think. Didn’t breathe. Honestly, I couldn’t have even if I wanted to.

So, I did the only thing I could. I moved.

I didn’t just hit him. I destroyed him. I remember the crunch of bone, the way his head snapped back, and the terrifying fact that I couldn’t stop.

If the bouncers hadn’t pulled me off of him, I might have killed him.

And the worst part? It felt good. That’s why I’m dangerous.

There was no fear in Dove’s eyes, but I felt danger in my soul.

Any other woman would have been terrified of the violence, of the blood on my knuckles. But not her. She stepped right between us, placing her soft, small hands on my chest, right over my heart. She didn’t even glance at the guy on the floor; she stared directly at me.

I felt like her hero. Her protector.

“Shane,” she whispered, her eyes wide and impossibly hazel. “Come back. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She wasn’t worried about herself. She was worried about me.

She cleaned my cut knuckles in the bathroom sink later, humming softly, treating me like a wounded animal instead of a monster.

As the blood washed down the sink, I realized I had no control over myself.

That was the night I realized I was in trouble.

That was the night I realized Dove Mercer wasn’t just sweet, she was the kind of light that makes shadows look darker by comparison.

A woman who cleans the blood off the man who punched someone several times right in front of her.

I pulled away then. I started dating Emily two months later, after Dove tried to kiss me on New Year’s Eve.

Not because I love Emily, but as a mask.

As a calculated move to put distance between myself and the one woman I knew would ruin me.

Or more likely, I would ruin her. And then once that’s over, my sisters will hate me. Dove is friends with both of them.

Emily is safe. Emily speaks the language of status and surface-level engagement. She doesn’t look at my hands and wonder if they hurt. Instead, she studies my watch and wonders what it cost.

It’s better this way. I’m too jagged for someone like Dove. She needs a nice guy. A teacher. Someone who buys her flowers on Tuesdays, not someone who wants to burn the world down because another man looked at her too long.

The doorbell rings. The sound vibrates through the floor, straight up my spine.

“I’ll get it!” I shout, my voice rougher than intended.

My younger brother, Theo, yells back, from the kitchen, “Sure thing, bro.”

He’s probably already eating the pie. Once, when he was six and I was sixteen, I caught him scooping out the middle of one with a fork, and covering up the empty spots with whipped cream.

In three long strides, I cross the foyer. My hand grips the cold brass handle. Before I open the door, I take a breath, ordering my heart to slow down. Be normal. Be anything other than the mess I become whenever she’s near.

I pull the door open.

The breath I took never leaves my lungs. It seems as entranced by her as I am, bathing in her proximity.

Dove stands in the sharp April sunlight, turning the gold in her soft brown hair into a haloed vision that hurts. She’s wearing a dress—something pastel and soft that clings to her waist and flares at her hips, leaving her arms bare to the breeze.

She looks like spring. Like innocence. Most importantly, like everything I’m not allowed to touch.

My eyes sweep over her, unauthorized and hungry, tracing the line of her throat down to where the fabric dips just enough to taunt me.

“Hi, Shane.” Her voice is a melody, soft and warm.

“Dove.” It comes out as a groan, low and ragged. I clear my throat, forcing my hands into my pockets so I don’t reach for her. “You’re late.”

Beside her, my sister Cordia snorts, leaning against the door frame with a knowing, dangerous smirk.

“Good morning to you too, Sunshine. And don’t growl at her. We hit traffic.” They drove separately, but always leave and arrive at the same time. I know this because Dove is always talking about how Cordia runs red lights, making Dove have to catch up after getting left behind.

Dove blushes, the color rising high on her cheekbones. “I’m sorry. It’s my car. It was making that awful noise again.”

“Your car?” I demand, the words snapping out too quickly. I hate that death trap she drives. I hate that she’s in it alone. “What kind of noise?”

“A grinding sound?” She bites her lip, and my gaze drops to her mouth instantly. “Like metal on metal. But, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” I step out onto the porch, closing the distance between us until I can smell her—vanilla and rain. The scent hits me like a drug. I tower over her, blocking out the sun, blocking out the rest of the world. “Give me your keys.”

Dove blinks, her hazel eyes widening. “What? You’ll get your suit dirty.”

“Not the only thing he wants to get dirty,” my sister unhelpfully mutters.

I shoot Cordia a glare, then return my attention to Dove. “I don’t care about the suit. If you think I’m letting you drive that death trap home, you’re out of your mind.”

The air between us turns electric. She stares up at me, her breath hitching, and for a second, I see it—the flash of awareness. The heat. She feels it too.

“You’re bossy today,” she whispers, but she’s reaching into her purse to grab her keys.

“I’m careful,” I correct, my eyes locking on hers. With you. Only with you.

“He’s acting like a caveman, that’s what he’s doing,” Cordia interjects, breezing past us into the house, though I catch the triumphant glint in her eye. “Stop undressing my best friend with your eyes and fix her car if you’re so worried, Shane.”

Dove gasps, her face turning crimson. “Cordia!”

“I wasn’t—” I start, a lie burning on my tongue. I absolutely was.

I step back to let Dove in, but I don’t move far enough.

As she passes me, her bare arm brushes against the wool of my jacket.

The contact is like lightning. A shock wave jolts through my system, tightening my chest. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to grab her hand and pull her back against the door and see if she tastes as sweet as she smells.

“You look beautiful, Dove,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. They hang heavy in the air, weighted with everything I can’t say. You look like mine. Forget the lamb, it’s you I want to devour.

She pauses on the threshold, looking back at me over her shoulder. The playfulness is gone, replaced by something fragile and terrified. “Thank you, Shane. You look nice. The tie suits you.”

Nice is something you say to a distant family member like your old Uncle Edgar, simply to be cordial.

But I could never be angry with her.

“It feels like a chokehold,” I mutter, holding her gaze.

“Maybe you tied it too tight.”

“Maybe.” Or maybe I’m just suffocating because you’re this close and I still have to pretend like I don’t want you. Though judging by my sister’s comments, I’m quickly realizing I’m not as good an actor as I want to believe I am.

I head out to her car, open the hood, peek around, but unfortunately, I’m not seeing what’s wrong.

I’m not a huge ‘car guy’, but I know the basics.

Still, not wanting her to get into a car accident, I will make her promise me to call an Uber or hitch a ride with Cordia after dinner.

I’d rather tow her car to the shop and get it professionally fixed than have her sit behind the wheel.

Once back inside my parents’ house, I place a hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the terrace.

It’s a courtesy. A gentlemanly gesture. But the second my palm touches the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her dress, I know I’m in trouble.

Her heat seeps into my skin, branding me.

She leans into my touch—just an inch, unconscious and instinctual.

My fingers flex, fighting the urge to grip her waist. I’m a drowning man, and she’s the only air in the room. And the worst part?

The doorbell rings again.

My stomach drops. The spell shatters.

“That’ll be Emily,” Cordia calls out from the other room, her voice flat.

Dove stiffens under my hand. She pulls away, putting a foot of cold, empty distance between us. The loss is instant and physical.

That’s the worst part.

“You should get that,” Dove says, her voice small. She doesn’t look at me. She wraps her arms around herself, covering the skin I was just staring at.

“Dove—”

“Go,” she whispers. “She’s waiting.”

Even if I wanted to say something back, I can’t, because my other sister, Marabella, comes to collect Dove. Marabella is twenty-seven, only three years older than Dove. Dove and Cordia are best friends but Marabella gets along with them too.

Marabella effectively taking Dove, I have no choice but to let her go. I can only watch her walk away from me, leaving me alone in the foyer about to open the door for the wrong woman.