Her eyes go wide. “No,” she whispers, “but I think it winked at me.” She leans in, glancing at her dad. “Daddy says he’s not sure fairies come out in the winter, but I know what I saw.”
I sneak a glance at Aidan, expecting another patient sigh or maybe the ghost of a smirk. But he’s just watching inquisitively.
I lean in a little closer, dropping my own voice to a whisper. “Well,” I say, giving Isla a knowing look, “I think sometimes daddies don’t always see the magic right in front of them. Us girls, though? We’re special.”
I wink, and Isla dissolves into giggles before she takes a careful sip of her hot chocolate. “Wearespecial, aren’t we?”
I smile, straightening up and smoothing my hand over my apron. “Definitely. Now, you finish your treats and keep an eye out. If that fairy comes back, I expect a full report.”
As I turn back to the counter, I can’t help but catch Aidan’s gaze one more time. He offers me a slight nod, the barest hint of anactualsmile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Is he always so composed and carefully in control? What’s made him hold the world at arm’s length?
I wonder what he’d look like if hereallysmiled. Maybe it’s selfish, but I ache to see it. Just once, so I can stop wondering if he’s ever truly happy.
I go back to my work, pushing thoughts of Aidan out of my mind. The café is bustling, and there’s plenty to keep meoccupied. I lose myself in the familiar rhythm of brewing coffee, plating pastries, and chatting with regulars.
By the time the morning rush slows, I glance up just in time to see Aidan gathering their things. Isla’s on the move, hopping down from her chair with that boundless energy only kids seem to have.
“Miss Lucy,” she calls out. “The cimma…cimman…cinnamon bun was the best ever!”
I laugh, leaning on the counter. “I’m so glad you liked it.”
She beams up at me. “It was so yummy! I’m gonna ask Daddy for another one next time.”
Just then, Aidan appears behind her, his footsteps heavy. He places a gentle hand on Isla’s shoulder, the touch surprisingly tender. “Come on, little storm. We’ve got to get going.”
His gaze lingers on Isla for a moment longer before he looks up at me. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then rubs the back of his neck, a gesture so human and unguarded that it feels almost out of place coming from him.
“Uh, thank you. For entertaining her story.” He pauses. “She’s got quite the imagination.”
The words are simple enough, but there’s a hesitance in his tone, as if he’s not entirely comfortable with this exchange. He shifts again, the muscles in his jaw tightening just slightly, a spark of his usual gruffness hovering beneath the surface.
I offer him a warm smile, hoping to ease the tension between us. “No problem at all. I love seeing the world through a child’s eyes. It’s a breath of fresh air.”
A brief silence hangs in the air, and I can practically see him wrestling with what to say next. His lips part, then close again, like the words he wants to share are caught somewhere between his mind and his mouth. Watching him grapple with that vulnerability is oddly endearing.
Before the silence stretches too long, I speak up, giving hima bit of an out. “Well, I hope I see you two again soon. Next week I’m making my special blueberry scones.”
He glances at Isla, then back to me, and I catch a hint of something softer as it curves his lips. “Might have to stop by for those.”
“We’ll come!” Isla chimes in. “Iloveblueberry scones.”
For a moment, Aidan’s gaze locks onto mine, and I swear the world around us pauses again. His voice drops, quieter and steadier this time. “Guess we’ll see you then.”
His words land gently but leave my heart fluttering, a warm rush spreading through me. My reply slips out softly. “See you then.”
As they walk away, I catch myself staring, a smile stretching across my face before I can stop it. There’s a delicate hairline crack in that seemingly impenetrable façade of his. I wonder what might be waiting on the other side.
ten
AIDAN
What the hell was I thinking back there?
Flirting.
The word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I’m no lovesick kid, but the way she smiles at me, like there’s something worth seeing beneath the surface, disarms me. And her voice, so soft and calm while she looked at my daughter with the same adoration I do? Damn it, she’s practically angelic. All innocence and dark hair that I know would feel smooth as silk between my fingers. The way I could ruin her, leave her trembling, undone…fuck.
