I look up at him, heart thrumming. “At what?”
He exhales slowly. His eyes meet mine, and for once, they don’t look away. “Letting people in.”
And there it is. Not an invitation. Not quite a warning, either. Just the truth.
I wait, holding my breath, afraid to break whatever fragilethread of honesty that’s making him open up. My heart beats faster, but I keep quiet, letting the silence stretch, needing him to keep going.
“If it’s all right,” he finally continues, “I’ll see if I can drop Isla off with my mum for a bit. I’d like to, uh…have some time. With you.”
He shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck as if he’s not sure how to handle what he just said. It’s clear he’s out of his depth with his guard down. It’s vulnerable. Unexpected. And kind of ridiculously charming.
Here’s the thing about me, though. When I get nervous, I laugh. Not a cute, contained little giggle. No, it’s breathless, irrepressible, mortifying laughter. It’s not a choice. It just…happens.
And this? Aidan, after shutting down and shutting me out, suddenly offering time alone? My brain short-circuits. My heart skips a beat. My stomach does a backflip. Then, I laugh.
It starts as a tiny huff, bubbling up, unstoppable. A full-blown hoot tumbles out of me. I slap a hand over my mouth, but it’s too late.
Aidan’s brows pull together, his head tilting slightly. His gaze drops to my mouth, eyes searching, probably wondering if I’m laughingathim.
“Sorry!” I manage between gasps, wiping tears from my eyes. “I’m not laughing at you. I just… I do this when I get nervous.”
He blinks, processing, before his mouth tugs into that slow, reluctant smile I’ve started to crave. His shoulders ease just a little, and the heaviness between us vanishes.
“Should I consider that amaybeto spending some time with me?” he asks dryly.
Just like that, I can breathe again. I should probably beconcerned that a mere half smile from him feels like the only thing I need to exist, but…well, here we are.
I take a deep breath, attempting to quell the laughter still threatening to bubble over. “Aye, you can consider it a maybe,” I tease.
“I’ll take it.”
Just then, Isla comes bounding back to us. “Daddy, can we get ice cream?”
He winces. “Not today, love. How about you go spend some time with Nana instead?”
“Oh, yes! She’ll get me ice cream!”
Aidan rolls his eyes, even though there’s nothing but affection in his gaze.
“I think you’re outnumbered,” I joke.
He shakes his head. “Don’t remind me.”
We approach the truck, and Isla scrambles into her seat. Aidan is quick, already there, guiding her and clicking the straps into place.
“Not too tight?” he asks, his voice softening as he checks the fit.
“Nope! Perfect,” she chirps, swinging her feet and beaming up at him.
He slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting the rearview mirror and glancing at Isla as she launches into a monologue about the merits of sprinkles versus chocolate sauce.
Aidan drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console. Though his eyes are fixed on the road ahead, I catch the faintest twitch of his lips every now and then, the smallest sign that he’s tuned into every word Isla is saying.
His mum’s house looks like it always smells of roses and fresh laundry. All stone walls and flowerpots, with ivy climbing one side. Isla’s already halfway out of her seat before we’re inpark, her fingers fumbling at the buckle as I roll down my window.
“Well, hello there!” Aileen calls, stepping onto the path with open arms.
Aidan gets out of the truck and has barely set Isla down on her feet before she launches herself into her grandmother’s embrace. “Daddy says you’ll get me ice cream!”
