Her mother and sister went still.
And then she turned. Slowly. As if bracing for impact.
Our eyes met.
She stood with her cheeks flushed pink, blueberry juice on her fingers, and an expression that suggested she was debatingsprinting directly into the nearest forest. Violet and her mother had frozen mid-tease, guilty pleasure painted all over their faces. The kitchen was warm and bright, sun flooding through the windows, cinnamon drifting through the air.
And all of it hit me with the force of something I had been avoiding for years.
Because the moment she looked at me, something stirred in a part of my mind that was supposed to be sealed off. A place I had locked down so thoroughly I had forgotten it even existed.
Attraction. Draw. Pull.
Heat, low and sharp, under my ribs.
Unwanted.
Unwelcome.
But unmistakably there.
I held her gaze, that single spark waking up old instincts I had shoved into the ground a long time ago, and I felt it again: a pulse of warmth rolling off her and hitting me with a clarity I didn’t want to acknowledge. It slipped under my defenses, under the layers I had built, seeping into cracks I thought were sealed.
Her family was right there. Still watching. Still waiting. Still enjoying the spectacle of Sienna turning the color of raspberries.
And yet, even with all of them present, even with the noise of pots rattling on the stove and coffee brewing behind me, I felt something shift inside me. Something I had sworn I was done feeling. Something I had decided had no place in the life I lived, the life I chose, the one built around staying away from anything messy or tender or heartbreakingly human.
Sienna broke the silence first.
She cleared her throat, too loud, too fast. “Hi.”
I nodded once. “Hello.”
Her fingers tightened around the countertop as if she needed the support. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.”
Her eyes widened. Violet choked back a laugh. Her mother lifted her mug and whispered, “Perfect timing.”
Yes. Perfect timing. Of course, the universe had that kind of humor.
I did not smile, but something in me flickered. She stared at me for a beat too long, then abruptly spun back to her coffee as if she could hide behind the mug.
I should have left.
I should have pretended I heard nothing.
Instead, I felt myself watching her. The flush on her cheeks. The slight shake in her hands. The way she kept her shoulder angled toward me like she wasn’t sure how to stand near someone she had just accidentally admitted to fantasizing about in a cave.
She was more flustered than anyone I had met in years. It was unsettling and strangely compelling. It tugged at something buried in my chest, something I hadn’t let surface since long before I took this job.
Her mother stepped in before Sienna combusted from embarrassment. “Carson, dear, we were just discussing how Sienna can show you around town.”
Sienna snapped her head toward her. “We were not discussing that.”
“Oh, but I think it is a wonderful idea,” her mother replied, unwavering. “You need to know the area. And Sienna knows it better than anyone.”
I opened my mouth to decline. “That is not necessary.”
