“Is there something I can do—you know, to make it better, make it a little less weird?”
Her head came up. He turned to meet those turquoise eyes briefly before focusing on the road again.
“I’m going out to Wild River Ranch on Saturday, for dinner.” She kept her gaze on the street ahead. “Aislinn invited me. When she saw it was you coming to pick me up, she said you’re a good guy and you’re hot.”
“That Aislinn. She knows what she’s talking about.”
“She also said I should bringyouwith me on Saturday.”
“Oh, did she?”
“Sten, will you come out to Wild River with me Saturday?”
Her invitation pleased him. It also made him a little nervous about where things were going between them. But not nervous enough to get him to beg off. “Yeah. I will.” He stole another glance at her.
Her dimples were now on full display. “You just said yes to me.”
“Yes, I did.” He could look at her forever. But he made himself face front again before he got them in a wreck.
* * *
“Come inside with me,” she said.
They stood at the front door to the cottage, the cliffs behind them, the porch light bringing out bronze streaks in her pale hair. He wanted to kiss her—oh, who was he kidding? He wanted to do a lot more than kiss her.
And what was so wrong with that? She wanted it, too. She’d said as much more than once.
“‘Thank you, Maddy. I would love to come in,’” she answered for him, faking a man’s deep voice. And then she turned, stuck the key in the lock and pushed open the door. “Please. After you.”
He went in and led the way through the small entry to the great room in back.
“Beer in the fridge,” she said, pausing to flip on a light. “One for me, too?”
He got out two bottles, uncapped them and carried them over to where she stood by the slider. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” She took the beer and pushed the slider open, letting in the chilly night air and the long sigh of the waves gliding into shore out there beyond the stretch of beach. “To families.” She raised her beer. “They can make us crazy, but where would we be without them?”
He tapped his bottle to hers and teased, “You look like someone just stole your dog.”
She tried a grin, but her eyes were full of shadows. “I’m a downer tonight. It’s the simple truth.”
“Talk to me. Tell me everything.”
“It’s too depressing.”
Easing a hand under her hair, he pulled her close. “Talk.” He breathed the word against the velvet skin of her forehead and then, reluctantly, let her go.
She leaned back against the doorframe, her mouth so soft, her gaze cast down. “Just thinking about my dad—the one I grew up with, not the one named Bravo.”
He wanted to touch her again, so he did, brushing a finger down the perfect line of her nose, guiding a lock of hair back behind her ear. “Thinking about your dad makes you sad?”
“Tonight, it does. He was tall, with blond hair and blue eyes—which is why, I’m guessing, he believed I was his child, even though my mom messed around behind his back more than once. She was small-boned, with dark hair and eyes. They both always claimed I got my looks from the Delaney side of the family. He loved me so much. I really don’t think he ever had a clue that I might not be his.”
“Youwerehis. He loved you. And it’s obvious that you loved him. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah. Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.” She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “It’s just, well, I have this feeling and I’ve had it for a while now, this feeling that I’m a fake, that I have no real life at all.”
He kind of wanted to grab her and shake her. But he made himself say mildly, “You’re being way too hard on yourself.”
