Chapter 6 Hilary
Chapter Six
Hilary
Baby showers are chaos.
The good kind.
The pastel-wrapped, cake-smeared, “oh my God look how tiny these socks are” kind.
By the time the last guest filters out and the driveway empties of cars, the house looks like it survived a confetti storm.
Tissue paper everywhere.
Ribbons clinging to chair legs.
Half-deflated balloons hovering like exhausted witnesses.
I’m stacking plates in the kitchen when Adrianna slips up beside me.
She smells like vanilla frosting and pregnancy glow.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” she says softly.
I roll my eyes.
“Please. I live for this stuff. You’re lucky I didn’t alphabetize your gift pile.”
She laughs and then, without warning, pulls me into a hug.
A real one.
The kind where she squeezes tight and rests her cheek against mine.
“Are you okay?” she murmurs.
And I know exactly what she’s asking.
Because she sees everything, and she knows me too well.
“Totally fine,” I say quickly.
Too quickly.
She pulls back just enough to give me that look. The one that says she knows me better than I know myself.
“I know it’s not my business, Larry, but maybe don’t be so careful,” she says quietly.
My stomach flips.
“Nice! With what?” I scoff.
She smiles in that secret, knowing way that makes me want to both hug her and shake her.
“With your heart. I know Eric was a dick, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t believe in magic,” she says instead.
Ugh. She went there.
She brought him up.
Eric Dufresne.
My ex-fiancé and total dickless wonder.
“Yeah, well, you’re biased because you’re just living out a Hallmark movie here,” I murmur and glare without any real heat.
Of course not. I mean, I’m happy for her. She deserves this.
Nate. Bella. A baby. Her own HEA.
“I know, but Lar, sometimes magic shows up when you least expect it.”
Before I can respond, Nate appears like a giant, protective shadow behind her.
“That’s it,” he says, sliding an arm around her waist. “I’m putting this one to bed before she overdoes it again.”
“I am not going to bed. You can’t make me,” she protests, even as he scoops her up like she weighs nothing.
He grins at me over her shoulder. “Watch me. Goodnight, Larry.”
Adrianna squeals, swatting at him halfheartedly as he carries her down the hallway.
“Hilary! Are you just gonna let him bully me?” Adrianna shouts, but she’s smiling and so am I.
“Yep. You love it when he bullies you,” I remind her.
“Ugh. You’re right. Okay, thanks for everything, Lar. I love you!” she calls.
“Love you more!” I shout back.
And just like that, it’s quiet.
Well.
Quieter.
A few lingering voices drift from the living room, Bella and her friends I think—but the party energy has faded into that soft end-of-night hum.
I turn back to the kitchen and start loading the dishwasher, stacking plates with mechanical precision.
Scrape. Rinse. Stack. Close.
Normal.
This is normal.
I can absolutely handle being in the same house as a global superstar without spiraling.
Totally fine.
The back door creaks open.
I freeze.
Footsteps.
Slow. Unhurried.
“Thought I’d bring this in before the birds get it.”
His voice slides into the room like warm whiskey.
I turn.
And there he is.
David.
Carrying the half-eaten cake like it’s some kind of peace offering.
He sets it on the counter carefully, glancing toward the backyard like he just saved it from imminent doom.
“Seemed like a shame to let good frosting go to waste.”
My mouth is suddenly dry.
“Heroic,” I manage.
He huffs out a quiet laugh.
The kitchen feels smaller with him in it.
Or maybe that’s just my imagination.
He rolls his sleeves up slightly—why is that so hot?—and steps closer to the sink.
“You need help?”
I blink.
“With what?”
He gestures vaguely at the dishwasher. “That.”
“Oh.” I shake my head quickly. “No, I’ve got it.”
Silence settles between us.
Not awkward.
Just charged.
I focus very intently on arranging forks like they personally offended me.
“You disappear fast,” he says after a moment.
I glance up. “Excuse me?”
“Earlier,” he clarifies. “Soon as the girls swarmed me.”
Heat floods my face.
“Oh. Well. That’s kind of your natural habitat, isn’t it?”
He studies me.
Not in a cocky way.
In a careful way.
“You think that’s where I belong? With a bunch of underage girls?”
The question catches me off guard.
“No, not like that,” I scoff. “I mean like, L.A. Clubs. Red carpets. Teenage girls screaming your name?” I shrug. “Seems like part of the whole world famous DJ thing.”
He leans back against the counter.
“Maybe. And you?”
“What about me?”
“Where do you belong, Sunshine?”
The nickname hits like a spark down my spine.
“Oh, I’m boring.”
“I doubt that.”
“Okay, I own a bookstore,” I say defensively. “I alphabetize chaos for a living.”
A slow smile spreads across his face.
“Nate mentioned that. Sounds cool.”
I look away first.
Because if I don’t?
I might forget myself.
The dishwasher clicks shut with a decisive snap.
I straighten, wipe my hands on a dish towel, and immediately regret it because now I don’t know what to do with them.
He’s still leaning against the counter.
Still watching me.
Not in the way men usually look at women.
Not scanning.
Not calculating.
Just looking. As if I’m something that might interest him. But I’m not foolish enough to really believe that.
“So, you really built that shop up from nothing by yourself?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, even though it absolutely is. “Took a while. A lot of spreadsheets. A lot of ramen.”
His mouth twitches.
“I like that. We got that in common.”
“Ramen?”
“The building something from nothing part.”
Oh.
That lands somewhere deep.
“Yeah, so I kind of Googled you,” I confess. “Are you really from the Bronx?”
“I am.”
“That’s awesome then. How you built your career.”
“Like I said, we got that in common,” he murmurs.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I reply. “I mean, you got world famous and I’m happy to make ends meet.”
“Not everything has to be flashy,” he says softly. “Some things are better when they’re steady.”
The word hangs between us.
Steady.
He pushes off the counter.
And suddenly he’s closer.
Not touching.
But close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him.
Close enough that the air shifts.
Close enough that my pulse stutters in a way that is frankly embarrassing for a grown woman.
“You don’t seem impressed,” he says.
“With what?”
He gestures vaguely to himself.
“The DJ Mars of it all.”
I huff.
“I devour monster romances on my lunch break, David. You being famous is like maybe third on the fantasy scale.”
That earns me a real laugh.
Low. Warm.
It does something unfair to my insides.
He steps closer.
Now we’re standing at the sink, the faint scent of lemon dish soap mixing with whatever clean, expensive cologne he’s wearing.
I can see the faint stubble along his jaw. The tiny scar near his eyebrow. The way his eyes darken when he looks at my mouth.
And oh God.
He’s looking at my mouth.
My breath catches.
He notices.
Of course, he notices.
His hand comes up—slowly—like he’s giving me time to object.
He doesn’t touch my face.
Just brushes a loose curl away from my cheek, tucks it behind my ear.
The contact is barely there.
But it feels like lightning.
My heart is pounding so loud I’m positive he can hear it.
“You don’t look at me like everyone else does,” he murmurs.
“How do they look at you?” I whisper back.
“Like I’m something to take.”
My throat tightens.
“Well, I’m not trying to take anything from anyone.”
His gaze drops to my lips.
Mine flicks to his.
The space between us narrows.
I can feel his breath now.
Warm.
Close.
This is it.
This is the moment in every book where the kiss happens.
The one that changes everything.
His hand slides to my waist.
Gentle.
Testing.
I lean in.
Just a fraction.
And then, he freezes.
Something shifts in his expression.
Not desire.
That’s real. I can still see it right there in his dark eyes.
But there’s something else.
Something heavier.
He inhales sharply and steps back.
Like the movement physically costs him something.
“David?” I breathe.
He drags a hand through his hair, jaw tight now.
“This isn’t—” He exhales. “You don’t need this.”
Excuse me?
“I don’t need what?”
“Me,” he says bluntly.
The word hits harder than I expect.
“You don’t even know me,” I shoot back.
“Exactly.”
He looks at me like he’s fighting himself.
“You’re a good little girl, Sunshine. And I’m not meant for good little girls.”
The way he says my name makes my stomach flip.
For half a second, I think he’s going to close the distance again.
Instead, he takes another step back.
Puts actual space between us.
“You deserve better than some guy passing through town,” he says quietly. “I’m not here to wreck anything.”
The implication stings.
“You think I’m that fragile?”
“No.” His eyes soften. “I think you’re not like the women I usually meet.”
And that’s supposed to make me feel better?
“You mean the models? The perfect, thin pop stars who shine brighter than neon? No shit, I’m not like them,” I snap, sharper than I intend.
His jaw tightens.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s fine. I get it. That’s your world, right?”
Silence.
And in that silence, I realize something uncomfortable.
He’s pushing me away because even if he wants to amuse himself with a little one night stand, I’m just too small town for him.
And that stings.
“You don’t even know me,” I repeat before I can stop myself.
That makes his mouth go hard.
“Goodnight, Hilary,” he says finally.
And he says it carefully.
Like I’m something breakable.
Then, he grabs his light jacket from the back of the chair and walks toward the door.
I still stand there.
Heart racing.
Lips still tingling from a kiss that never happened.
And the worst part?
He might be right.
He’s not for me.
But when he looked at me like that?
It felt like magic.
And Adrianna told me to believe in magic.
Damn it. I shouldn’t have listened.