Chapter 15 #2
“It’s okay,” I murmur, still rooted to the spot, crumpled cups forgotten. Because all I can really feel is the ghost of his palm on my waist and the space where his mouth almost touched mine.
“I should probably check on Isla.”
“Right.” I nod, trying to look composed even as my pulse is still tripping over itself. “Thanks again. For the help.”
“Of course.” He gives me one last look before turning to walk back toward the crowd, his shoulders tense, hands shoved in his pockets.
I’m left standing in a tangle of wind-wrecked treats and paper cups, feeling the pull of something between us that he won’t…or can’t, admit.
The rest of the morning passes quickly enough. Customers come and go, the festival swells with laughter and music, and I keep busy, though my mind drifts to Aidan more than I’d like to admit. Every time the crowd shifts, I catch myself looking for him.
“You’re staring again,” Callan says, appearing at my side with that knowing smirk of his.
I nearly jump out of my skin. “I’m not staring at anything,” I protest, turning to face him with what I hope is an innocent expression.
“Sure you’re not,” he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m not your brother who’s known you your entire life.”
I roll my eyes, busying my hands with rearranging the few remaining pastries. “Don’t you have your own booth to run?”
“Bree’s handling it with Knox.” He leans against the table, his eyes scanning the crowd before landing back on me with a grin. “So, when did this happen?”
“When did what happen?” I ask, though the heat creeping up my neck betrays me.
“You. Him.” Callan gestures vaguely toward where Aidan had disappeared. “The whole blushing schoolgirl routine.”
“I am not—” I start, then catch myself. “There’s nothing happening. He just helped me set up the booth.”
“Uh-huh.” Callan’s eyes dance with amusement. “That’s why you’ve been watching the crowd like a hawk for the last hour.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re transparent,” he counters, snagging one of the last cookies from the display.
Before I can respond, there’s a commotion at the edge of the crowd. I look up to see Isla breaking free from her grandmother’s grasp, darting through the festival-goers with surprising speed for someone so small. She’s wearing a lopsided flower crown, petals already falling loose around her curls.
“Miss Lucy!” she calls, her face alight with excitement as she races toward the booth.
My heart swells with joy at the sight of her, and I crouch down just in time to catch her as she launches herself at me.
“Whoa there!” I laugh, bracing her as she nearly topples us both over. “Careful, or you’ll send all our pastries flying again.”
“Look what I made!” She thrusts a second flower crown toward me, this one even more precarious than the one on her head, with daisies and buttercups woven haphazardly through twisted stems. “It’s for you.”
“For me?” I press a hand to my chest, genuinely touched. “It’s beautiful, Isla.”
She beams, bouncing on her toes. “Put it on!”
I lower my head, and she places the crown on my hair with all the seriousness of a royal coronation.
“How do I look?” I ask, straightening up.
“Like a princess,” she declares.
Callan laughs beside me, and I shoot him a warning glance before turning back to Isla. My pulse kicks up when I see Aidan approaching, his hands still tucked into his pockets but with something almost like a smile tugging at his lips.
“Look!” Isla squeals, launching herself at his legs. “A flower crown for me, one for Miss Lucy, and one for Nana.”
Aidan scoops her up with one easy motion, settling her on his hip. His eyes linger on mine, and I resist the urge to fidget under his gaze.
“Beautiful,” he says quietly, and the simple compliment sends heat blooming across my cheeks.
Beside me, Callan clears his throat loudly. “I should get back to Bree,” he announces, not even trying to hide his smirk. “She’ll be wondering where I’ve gone.” He gives Aidan a brief nod before shooting me a look that clearly says we’ll be discussing this later.
Once he’s gone, I turn my attention back to Aidan and Isla. “How’s the festival treating you so far?”
“Good,” Aidan replies, gesturing to the bustling crowd around us. “Isla’s won just about every game she’s tried.”
“Did not,” Isla protests. “I didn’t win the ring toss.”
“Only because your arms aren’t long enough yet,” Aidan says, his voice softening as he adjusts her on his hip. “Give it a few years.”
This tiny glimpse into their relationship makes my heart swell. “Well, I’ve still got a few lemon scones left if anyone’s interested?” I offer, already reaching for the pastry I’d set aside earlier.
“Me!” Isla’s hand shoots up, nearly toppling her flower crown in the process.
Aidan sets her down gently, his eyes meeting mine over her head. “What do we say, Isla?”
“Please, Miss Lucy,” she chirps.
“Yes, of course,” I say, handing Isla a scone wrapped in a napkin. “Careful, it might crumble a bit.”
I grab the other scone I’d saved and offer it to Aidan. “For your heroic table rescue earlier.”
His fingers brush against mine as he takes it, sending that familiar spark dancing up my arm. “Thanks,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear it. Then he turns to Isla. “We really need to find your nana before she spends any more money on you.”
Isla mumbles in acknowledgement through a mouthful of crumbs before they both offer a wave goodbye. We don’t really know each other beyond a handful of shared smiles and a few messy, thrown together moments. And yet, it stings as I watch them walk in the opposite direction.
The festival winds down as the day stretches into late afternoon, and the crowd thins as families head home with painted faces and pockets full of trinkets. I’m packing up the last of my supplies, carefully folding the tablecloth and stacking the empty trays, when I sense someone watching me.
I glance up, expecting to see Callan ready with another teasing comment, but instead, it’s Aidan. He’s standing just a few feet away.
“Hey,” I say softly.
He shifts his weight, and our eyes meet for the barest second before he looks away. “Thought you might need help packing up.”
A warm flutter sparks in my chest, but I tamp it down. “I think I’ve got it,” I say, forcing the words out steadily. “Thank you, though.”
For a second, I think he’s going to turn and leave. Instead, he steps forward, reaching for one of the heavier boxes. “Let me at least carry this to your car.”
I hesitate, my pride warring with practicality. The box is heavy, and my car is parked at the far end of the lot. “If you’re sure…”
He nods, lifting the box with ease.
We walk in silence as we make our way toward the parking area. The setting sun casts long shadows across the pavement, painting everything in soft gold and amber. I’m acutely aware of his presence beside me and the careful distance he maintains between us.
“Your brother?” he asks suddenly.
I glance over, surprised to hear him speak. “The one at the booth earlier? Yeah, that’s Callan.”
He adjusts his grip on the box. “How many of you are there?”
“Three of us,” I reply, fishing my keys from my pocket as we approach my car. “Knox, Callan, and me. I’m the youngest.”
“They both live around here?”
“Yeah, they actually run our family distillery. You might have seen their booth.”
He dips his chin, a hint of recognition crossing his face. I unlock the trunk, and he sets the box inside, careful not to jostle it.
“Thanks,” I say, closing the trunk.
He lingers, one hand resting on the car, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance. “I wanted to thank you again,” he says finally. “For earlier. For the last couple months, really, and for being so friendly with Isla.”
I shake my head, leaning back against the car. “You don’t need to thank me for that. She’s a loveable little girl.”
Aidan doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t even blink. Just stands there with that intense, unreadable expression that always makes me feel like I’ve been caught looking too closely.
“Maybe not,” he says finally, voice rougher than before. “But I felt like I should, anyway.”
That cracks me wide open, because I’m fairly certain Aidan doesn’t offer up pieces of himself often. If ever.
“This isn’t easy for me,” he starts, eyes meeting mine for a second. “Having Isla get attached to people.”
I watch his throat move as he swallows, his jaw clenched tight. He’s not looking at me now. He’s looking somewhere past me, like it’s easier to face the empty sky.
“Because of your job?”
“Partly.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Isla’s mum left when she was only a few months old.”
A breath punches from my lungs. “Aidan…I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you this for sympathy. I just…” He exhales, long and slow. “I want you to know that Isla forms attachments quickly, and I’m doing everything I can to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”
His words land like a blow. They’re honest but devastating.
In that one moment, I see more than the gruff exterior or the tired father doing his best. I see the man who’s been holding everything together with his bare hands and a thin thread of control, terrified that if he lets one thing slip, the whole thing will collapse.
I nod, my throat too tight to speak. My heart’s already spilling all over the place.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper, because it’s all I can manage.
His eyes come back to mine, maybe searching for doubt or judgment. What he’ll find is understanding.
“I should get her home,” he says quietly.
“Of course.” I tuck my hands into my sleeves, suddenly chilled. “I’ll see you around?”
He hesitates for just a breath, and then the corner of his mouth lifts into the smallest smile. “Aye,” he murmurs. “See you, Lucy. Soon.”
Then he walks away, officially taking a piece of my heart with him before I even realize I’ve handed it over.