“So I’m really supposed to believe you make killer chocolate chip cookies?” he asks, a teasing note in his voice. “That’s a bold claim, Snow.”
“Are you doubting my baking skills?”
“I’m saying I might need proof.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “You know, for verification purposes.”
“Is that so?” I feel a smile tugging at my lips. “And what exactly would earn you that verification?”
“Well, I did just buy you every sunflower at the market.” He pretends to consider. “I’d say that’s worth at least a cookie. Maybe two.”
“Maybe,” I concede, laughing as we drift toward the water’s edge. The cool, damp sand squishes between our toes. Behind us, the sun has dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in bruised purples and soft gold.
The easy conversation lulls into a comfortable, charged silence. He turns to face me, his silhouette dark against the fading light. He reaches out, his fingertips grazing my jaw, tilting my face up toward his. His eyes search mine, asking without words. My heart pounds as I nod.
He leans in slowly, giving me every opportunity to pull away, to retreat back behind my walls. I don’t. I meet him halfway, rising on my toes, my hands finding their way to his chest. The kiss is not the hungry, performative passion of a romance cover. It’s soft. It’s tender. It’s a question, a discovery, a promise. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my skin. It’s a gesture of such profound, gentle intimacy it almost brings tears to my eyes.
“Wow,” he breathes out.
A slow smile spreads across my face. “Wow indeed,” I say back, my voice a little shaky. “So… that was… wow.”
He lets out a soft chuckle, a warm, rumbling sound in his chest. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a line along my jaw. “That was definitely a wow.”
We stand there for a moment longer, neither of us wanting to break the spell.
“I should probably get you home,” he says finally, his voice reluctant. “As much as I’d love to stay right here, I don’t think I can top that as an ending to a date.”
I laugh, a light, giddy sound that surprises me. “That’s setting the bar pretty high for next time.”
“Next time?” His smile widens. “I like the sound of that.”
He insists on following me home in his truck to make sure I get there safely, which is both old-fashioned and impossiblysweet. Inside my car, I can’t stop smiling, checking my rearview mirror to see his headlights behind me. The whole drive feels charged with the memory of his kiss.
When I pull into my driveway, he’s right behind me. He walks me to the door of my cottage, carrying the heavy bouquet of sunflowers as if they were treasure, and then waits while I close and lock the door. Such a gentleman. Just like the men from the romance books he poses for. Swoon.
Chapter 16
Wyatt - Two Months Later
Istep off the charter plane and into a wall of heat, a humid, fragrant embrace that does nothing to warm the sudden, sharp pang of loneliness in my chest. The air in St. Lucia smells of salt and hibiscus and rain, a sweet, exotic perfume that feels all wrong. It’s not the lavender from her garden. It’s not the familiar, comforting scent of her.
St. Lucia. A lover’s paradise. The kind of place I’d pictured bringing Snow for our first trip together — white sand beaches, turquoise water, sunset dinners where we could just relax and be completely, stupidly in love.
I can still see her face from three weeks ago, curled up on her couch with me after I’d finally finished building her the bookshelf she’d mentioned wanting. She’d looked up at me, her eyes soft and vulnerable, and whispered, “I love you, you know.” Like she was afraid I might not believe her. Like she thought I might not feel the same. I’d pulled her close, buried my face in her hair, and said it back — the truest words I’ve ever spoken. “I love you too. So damn much.”
Leaving her this morning was brutal. She was still warm and sleepy when I kissed her goodbye before dawn, her hair spread across her pillow, mumbling something about being safe. I’d stood in her doorway for a full minute, just watching her, trying to memorize the moment before three days of manufactured romance and fake passion.
Instead, it’s Jade with me, her expression mirroring my own professional weariness. Jade’s a good friend, a fellow model who’s been in this game as long as I have. She’s happily married to her wife, Clara, and just as ready as I am to get this job done and get home to the people we love.
My hand is already in my pocket, finding my phone. I need to text Snow to close the thousand-mile distance between us with a few simple words.
Landed safely. It’s beautiful here, but I miss you. Love you so damn much.
Her reply comes almost instantly.
Love you too. Go be the handsome, brooding hero. I’ll be here when you get back.
A real smile, the first one since I left this morning, spreads across my face. I can picture her saying it, a playful glint in those incredible eyes. The thought is a lifeline, an anchor to the real world in the sea of artifice I’m about to dive into.
Leo and Delilah Drake, the author whose epic historicals have paid for half the equipment in my future gallery, greet us with an almost manic enthusiasm. Delilah, a woman whose dramatic flair is not confined to her writing, throws her arms wide. “My stars!” she exclaims, her voice a theatrical boom. “They’re even more beautiful in the island light! We are going to capture the epic, unforgettable conclusion to the Crimson Curse saga!”
