“Tea would be great.”
“Green, white, black?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
“Green then.” I padded toward the kitchen, each step an undignified little duck-flap. “Lemon or no lemon?”
“Lemon, please.”
He settled onto a barstool like it was the most natural thing in the world. But nothing about Damien Holt in my kitchen felt remotely natural.
I grabbed the teapot, grateful for something to do. Water hissed into the kettle. Loose leaves rattled into the strainer, a few floating stubbornly before sinking under the heat. The scent of citrus and toasted grass curled upward, smoothing the air between us.
“You never got to eat lunch, did you?” Damien asked suddenly.
My stomach answered for me, loud and mortifying.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” His grin spread, open and disarming. “Want me to order a pizza? I know a great family-owned place.”
“Sure,” I managed, spoon stilling. “Candace and I usually split a cheese.”
He pulled out his phone. “Lucio!”
A muffled voice answered.
“I’m doing well.” He tucked the phone against his ear. “I’d like to place an order for delivery. Large cheese and a medium Sicilian. Put it on my tab.”
A pause.
Then he rattled off my address from memory.
My shoulders crept up, then eased. He was Damien Holt—his brain probably operated like a spreadsheet on legs. And besides…Read would’ve remembered.
“It’ll be here in thirty minutes or less.” He tucked his phone away.
A laugh slipped free. “Remember when pizza places actually promised that?”
“Oh, yeah. If they were late, it was free. Sebastian and I used to time it, hoping they’d miss.”
“Candace and I did that, too.” I relaxed, just a fraction.
“Talking shit about me already?” Candace called as she rounded the corner, towel-wrapped hair dripping onto her tank top.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Damien said.
“I could,” I added, earning her snort.
She dropped onto the stool beside him, flicking a bead of water that landed on his T-shirt. The thin cotton molded to his chest—dark jeans, a white tee, hair pushed back in that unfairly effortless way—and seeing him like that, here of all places, knocked something loose in my ribs.
Candace had been right. He was a full-blown smoke show.
The kettle screamed. I turned back to the stove and poured three cups of tea. A tiny spray of lemon shot into my eyes as I squeezed juice into the cups. I wiped it away, eyes watering.
Candace swiveled toward him, elbows on the counter. “So, Damien—mind telling me what the actual fuck you were thinking?”
Color drained from his face, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze flicked to mine—hoping for backup. I gave none.
“I’m a dick.” Simple. Unvarnished. “A selfish prick. I tricked her—made her believe I was someone else.” His voice dipped. “But I didn’t lie about what mattered. Everything we talked about—the late nights, the stories, the thoughts—was real. But I did lie by omission.”
