I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ward off both the cold and the growing knot of anxiety in my stomach. This was exactly why Emmy’s warning had been so important. I was already getting too attached, too invested in someone who was essentially a stranger.
But he didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. Somewhere over the past few days, Kent Bancroft had stopped being just a mysterious guest and had become something else. Someone I cared about? Someone whose absence made me pace the porch like a worried girlfriend?
The thought should have been alarming, but before I could examine it too closely, I saw headlights coming around the bend in the road. I held my breath as Brom’s old pickup truck rumbled down the driveway. Brom’s truck had the best winter tires on the property and four-wheel-drive if needed.
The truck pulled up near the porch steps and Kent climbed out, looking completely unharmed and devastatingly handsome in his dark peacoat. When he spotted me standing there, hestopped and flashed me that cocky grin that never failed to make my pulse quicken.
“Honey, I’m home,” he said, his voice carrying easily in the cold night air.
I rolled my eyes at his presumption, but I couldn’t suppress my smile of relief. “Is he okay?”
“Safe and sound asleep in his bed,” Kent assured me, climbing the porch steps to where I was standing. “How did the rest of the party go after we left?”
“It was good,” I said, though truthfully I’d been too distracted to pay much attention to anything after he’d left with Phineas. “Everyone had a nice time, and the kids finally crashed around ten.”
“And you waited up for me?” he asked, something warm and pleased flickering in his eyes.
“Only so you could walk me home,” I said, trying to sound casual about it.
He chuckled at that, clearly not buying my nonchalant act. “Well then, I guess I’d better fulfill my gentlemanly duties. Been a busy night for heroes.”
I snorted. “Hero is a bit of a stretch.”
We made the short walk across the driveway to my entrance by the garage, our footsteps crunching softly in the fresh snow. I unlocked the door and turned back to him, struck once again by how the porch light seemed to highlight all his best features. It was so unfair a man could look so good.
“It was really kind of you to step up like that tonight,” I said. “I was surprised by how well Mr. Withers responded to you. Usually he just gets angrier when people try to help.”
Kent’s expression softened, and he looked suddenly far away, as if he was remembering something from his past. “I know a thing or two about drinking your sorrows away.”
The quiet admission caught me off guard. “You?”
He shook his head quickly. “My brother.”
Those two simple words carried a weight of pain and experience that made my heart twist in my chest. Suddenly so much about Kent’s calm, competent handling of Phineas made sense. This wasn’t theoretical knowledge. He’d lived through watching someone he cared about struggle with alcohol.
In that moment, standing there in the soft glow of the porch light, I saw so much in Kent that I liked. So much that I more than liked, if I was being honest with myself.
He had stepped up tonight when I needed help. The man had handled a difficult situation with more grace and understanding than anyone else at that party could have managed. People that had known Phineas for years couldn’t have done it any better. He’d shown kindness to a lonely old man who most people just wrote off as a nuisance. And now I was learning that he’d done it all from a place of personal experience and compassion.
How was I supposed to keep my emotional distance from someone like that?
“Is it too late to invite you in for that nightcap?” I heard myself asking.
The question surprised me almost as much as it surprised him. I hadn’t planned to ask, hadn’t consciously decided to ignore Emmy’s warning about keeping things professional. But standing there looking at Kent, thinking about everything he’d shown me about himself tonight, I found that I didn’t want to say goodbye just yet.
His eager smirk was back immediately, transforming his face from thoughtful to wickedly attractive in the span of a heartbeat.
“It’s never too late for that,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone that made heat pool in my stomach.
I stepped back and held the door open for him, my heart racing as he brushed past me into the small entryway. Whateverhappened next, I had a feeling there would be no going back to the careful professional distance I’d been trying to maintain.
I found that I didn’t care about playing it safe anymore.
CHAPTER 28
KENT
Sylvie’s apartment was exactly what I had expected. It was cozy and personal, filled with pieces that told the story of her life. But what I hadn’t expected was how intimate it would feel to be here with her, watching her move around her small kitchen as she prepared drinks for us.
