For a heartbeat, the world blurs around us. He watches me with guarded yet curious eyes.
Then, because apparently fate has a wicked sense of humor, a gust of wind kicks up again, sending a stack of paper cups skittering across the pavement.
“Bloody hell—” I lunge for them, but Aidan moves at the same time. We collide. My shoulder knocks against his chest. One of his hands grabs my waist to support me.
Everything stops.
His touch is too careful to be casual, too protective to be nothing. We both go still, the air between us yanked tight. His hand doesn’t fall. If anything, it settles more firmly at my waist.
I can feel every inch of him, solid andso close. His gaze drops to my mouth, and the world narrows to that single, impossible inch between us.
He leans in just enough that I feel the whisper of his breath against my cheek, the promise of something we’re both seconds from falling into.
A burst of noise—someone shouting—snaps the moment. His hand falls from my waist before he steps back.
“Sorry,” he breathes, rough and unsteady.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, still rooted to the spot, crumpled cups forgotten. Because all I can really feel is the ghost of his palm on my waist and the space where his mouth almost touched mine.
“I should probably check on Isla.”
“Right.” I nod, trying to look composed even as my pulse is still tripping over itself. “Thanks again. For the help.”
“Of course.” He gives me one last look before turning to walk back toward the crowd, his shoulders tense, hands shoved in his pockets.
I’m left standing in a tangle of wind-wrecked treats and paper cups, feeling the pull of something between us that he won’t…or can’t, admit.
The rest of the morning passes quickly enough. Customers come and go, the festival swells with laughter and music, and I keep busy, though my mind drifts to Aidan more than I’d like to admit. Every time the crowd shifts, I catch myself looking for him.
“You’re staring again,” Callan says, appearing at my side with that knowing smirk of his.
I nearly jump out of my skin. “I’m not staring at anything,” I protest, turning to face him with what I hope is an innocent expression.
“Sure you’re not,” he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m not your brother who’s known you your entire life.”
I roll my eyes, busying my hands with rearranging the few remaining pastries. “Don’t you have your own booth to run?”
“Bree’s handling it with Knox.” He leans against the table, his eyes scanning the crowd before landing back on me with a grin. “So, when did this happen?”
“When did what happen?” I ask, though the heat creeping up my neck betrays me.
“You. Him.” Callan gestures vaguely toward where Aidan had disappeared. “The whole blushing schoolgirl routine.”
“I am not—” I start, then catch myself. “There’s nothing happening. He just helped me set up the booth.”
“Uh-huh.” Callan’s eyes dance with amusement. “That’s why you’ve been watching the crowd like a hawk for the last hour.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re transparent,” he counters, snagging one of the last cookies from the display.
Before I can respond, there’s a commotion at the edge of the crowd. I look up to see Isla breaking free from her grandmother’s grasp, darting through the festival-goers with surprising speed for someone so small. She’s wearing a lopsided flower crown, petals already falling loose around her curls.
“Miss Lucy!” she calls, her face alight with excitement as she races toward the booth.
My heart swells with joy at the sight of her, and I crouch down just in time to catch her as she launches herself at me.
“Whoa there!” I laugh, bracing her as she nearly topples us both over. “Careful, or you’ll send all our pastries flying again.”
