Warner Landers’s charming ways would typically have me eating up the sweet nothings. It’s Warner, though, so myguard goes up instantly. Am I losing control of the situation? Falling prey to a hot guy? Again? It’s not the first time I’ve made the mistake of crossing lines with someone who didn’t deserve my time.
This is a stark reminder that he’s the man who is callously stripping away not only my family’s livelihood but also our home. That makes my stomach twist into knots. It’s almost easier to put the emphasis on the restaurant than the home my family has lived in well before I was born. Tears will come if I give it even a minute of my time.Don’t think about it, Delaney.
I exhale and fix my disposition. A new Warner means fresh opportunities to make his life hell before he drags down mine and my family’s. I smile at him, but can tell it’s too big, and probably too telling of my intentions, judging by how he takes a step back. I’m tired of being on, so I release that energy and try to relax. “Hey?”
He comes closer and we start strolling. I’m glad to leave that situation behind and to be moving forward. Literally and figuratively. “Hey.” He bumps his arm against mine. If I’m not mistaken, he’s almost playful. Oh, he’s good. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Let’s find out.” I stop again to use my hands. Holding three fingers out, I say, “Spill it on the count of three. Three. Two. One?—”
“Gelato.”
“Ice cream.” My mouth falls open. “Wow, wewerethinking about the same thing.”
“Almost,” he replies, walking down the sidewalk from me.
I jog to catch up. “Almost is accurate. Ice cream is far superior to gelato.”
“No.”
Stopping at the corner, I glare at him. “What do you mean, no?”
He shrugs, but his gaze narrows. It’s subtle, but I think his breathing has quickened when I see his chest moving. The flex of his fingers and the lick of his lips don’t deter him from staring at the crosswalk signal like his life depends on it.
Oh.
Swiping the back of his hand across his forehead, he opens his mouth to take in air as if he wasn’t getting enough. I’m no expert, but I think he’s close to having a panic attack. That would make sense. Here we are in the vicinity of where it happened. No doubt he’s lucky to be alive with only minor injuries, considering what could have been horrific on another level.
I’ll probably hate myself for doing this, but right now, I don’t matter.He does.Looking between us, I slip my hand in his and tighten my hold on him. His gaze stays forward, but his fingers curl around mine as if this is something we regularly do. When the signal changes and the others around us take off, I move close to him, and whisper, “We can cross together.”
There’s no response, not verbally anyway, but he holds my hand across the two lanes. Although I expect him to drop my hand like a hot potato at any moment, he doesn’t. Warner’s grip tightens with no intention of letting go, as if I’m his to hold. My mouth goes dry as I attempt to swallow and fail. I clear my throat, hoping it helps my mind. It’s not my mind I’m most worried about. It’s another stupid organ in my chest.
And when his breathing evens out again and color returns to his face, he says, “Ice cream is not superior.” Picking up as if there was never a lapse in conversation. Thetransition was abrupt, but for his ego, I won’t bring up what just happened. Seems he prefers it that way. “I can appreciate the creaminess. It’s heavy, though. Gelato is lighter but packed with flavor. You don’t need syrup or cherries?—”
“No whipped cream or bananas?” My head is still stuck on the fact that he’s holding my hand. Willingly. I glance down just to see the connection firsthand again.
Chuckling, he connects his gaze with mine for the first time since we crossed. Life has returned to his eyes, a playful mischievousness, but only for the quickest moment in time before he returns his focus ahead of us. “Not needed.”
“Speak for yourself. Don’t you just love popping that cherry?” His feet stop suddenly, causing my body to yank in protest because I foolishly kept walking without noticing the change in pace. I steady my footing, angling to look up at him. “What?”
“You can’t say things like that and expect me not to react.”
“Say what?” Rewinding through the immediate conversation, I laugh. “The cherry thing? I didn’t even think of it that way, ya dirty bird.”
“I’m the dirty bird?” He manages his broken arm against his chest as if my insinuation inspired the move. But it’s not that side effect that has my chest feeling tight. It’s that he forfeited using his “good” hand in lieu of holding my hand. He’s chuckling. “I’m not the one going around talking about popping cherries. You are with your wide blue eyes and those lips that look dipped in juice.”
“Juice?”
“Cherry juice.”
“Oh.” And although I have so many follow-up questions to that statement, we’re not those people. We’re enemies who have laid down our weapons for a little while, and thishand-holding business has muddled my emotions. “It’s a new lip stain I bought at the drugstore earlier this week. Glad it’s working.”
“It’s working alright.”
I hold tight to the thoughts busying my mind, the ones that are sending my heart to beat into overdrive. I swallow them down to protect myself. Maybe it’s the conversation or the warmth of his hand or the good time this has turned into, but if I’m not careful, I might fall for this man. Even if he is getting easier on the eyes as time passes, I can’t let it happen. Not when I know the real circumstances of our relationship.
Keeping my head on straight, my heart in check, and him in the dark is best. I slip my hand out of his as easily as I had placed it there. He carries on like it makes no difference at all to him, rambling on about something to do with density in creams and how gelato is made in some special way. It’s dumb that I’ve put myself in a position of being vulnerable to him. I’m probably just tired and out of sorts from the chaotic few days we’ve lived.
“Where did you say this place was?”
