Which he would have done if Lucy weren’t directly within his frame of vision.
Because a first kiss—technically second, but first with actual meaning—needed privacy. Reverence. Maybe a moonlit sky and a decent cologne. But definitely privacy.
Not a backdrop of dog-hair barrettes.
He sank his fingers into her hair. Silky. Soft. He attempted to usher up a teasing comment, but the intimacy of the act closed off any verbal response. He wasn’t even sure he could remember how his fingers worked.
“Take small pieces,” she murmured, shifting slightly so their shoulders brushed. Her hand found his, guiding. Their eyes locked—again. And stayed.
She wasn’t just pretty.
She wasbreathtaking.
“A... um... French braid means... little pieces,” she rasped.
He forced his hands into motion, enfolding one strand with another. Out of his depth? Understatement of the century. This was the intimacy Olympics, and he had shown up with two left hands and no emotional armor.
Say something clever, mate. Anything.
He managed a few lopsided loops. “I... suppose you’ve earned another drive in my car.”
Her lips tipped slightly from her profile, the line from her chin following beautifully to her perfect ears.
Heat shot up his neck.Perfect ears?
“Careful, Dashwood. That’s starting to sound like a reward system.”
He was about to retort when his clumsy fingers tugged too hard. “Ouch.”
“Sorry,” he murmured with a grin.
He finished the lopsided braid with a few extra prompts from Daphne, and when she finally pulled back, his fingers flexed, still holding the ghost of her softness.
“Thanks again for watching Lucy,” he said, throat scraped raw.
“You know I never mind.” Her gaze slid back to Lucy, who had now adorned Winston’s tail with a scrunchie. “We’ve had very important conversations. Princess rankings. Proper tea ceremony etiquette. Heroic dogs.”
“Clearly essential topics.” A strand he’d missed slipped down over her cheek. Without thinking, he reached up and tucked it behind her ear. “And an excuse to see you, you know.”
One of her gold brows curved northward. “So the whole wedding challenge was just an elaborate excuse to spend more time with me?”
“Go big or go home.”
Her laugh came soft. “Or criticize my tidy kitchen and mock my beverage selection?”
At the moment, he was heroically trying to determine if her eyes were periwinkle or gray-blue and failing spectacularly.
“I’ve since repented,” he said solemnly.
“Oh no.” Her brows lifted. “You’re going soft on me.”
“Terrifying, isn’t it?”
At this range, with her braid still warm between his fingers, she was much too close not to kiss. And if Lucy wasn’t directly in his peripheral vision, he absolutely would have.
This amount of willpower ought to win him an award. Maybe ten.
“Actually, my thoughts were much more amicably directed.” He stood, because if he didn’t find some privacy right now, hewouldkissher, right here, in front of his kid and a beribboned dog. “I actually came bearing gifts.” He offered her his hand. “In the kitchen?”
