Page 118 of Beneath the Quiet

But the problem is that I don’t only want to jump him and have wild sex with him.

He stayed the night, and he took care of me because he didn’t want to leave me when I had no one else.

He’s getting closer, weakening my resolve to keep him out of my heart, and I can’t let him get closer than he already is. Even if my feelings continue to grow, I still don’t know if Cloonmara is the right place for me.

And that’s what scares me the most. That I’ll end up caring too much when I don’t even know if I want to stay here.

But I can’t tell him that.

I don’t know how.

Aidan is the type of man I could so easily fall in love with if I let myself.

The thought terrifies me, but I don’t know what to do with it.

I shake my head and stretch, my limbs cracking and crunching like an old woman. When my stomach lets out a long growl, letting me know it’s been too long since I fed it, I toss the cover away, and on shaky legs and with a running nose, I walk into the bathroom to do as he says.

I wrap the towel around my hair and walk downstairs, the scent of bacon making my mouth water. I meant to dry it, but I’m so hungry that I couldn’t go without food for much longer. I’ve changed into my most comfortable but still fairly feminine pyjamas, a royal-blue satin set, but I put on a new pair of fuzzy socks.

When I turn the corner and catch Aidan on the phone, I tiptoe next to him and walk to the bar where two steaming mugs of coffee are lined up. Aidan points at the beige cup with illustrations of cherries scattered here and there on top of it, and I take it as my sign that it’s meant for me.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, love. I’m glad you didn’t fall from your horse yesterday.”

I smile over the rim of the cup.

“Have fun. Bye.”

I blow softly on the hot coffee, take a careful sip, and sit on the chair next to the bar. Aidan’s eyes seem to follow my every move, and I try not to shiver at the intense stare, not used to being scrutinised so carefully.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad.” I shrug. “Just a little sore, and I’ve got a cold and a headache, but I’ll manage.”

“That’s good. You look better.”

“Thank you.”

He turns back to the stove and grabs a couple of paper napkins, puts them on a plate next to him, and then scrapes the bacon from the pan, letting the grease drip off.

“Please thank your mum for the food from me.”

“I will.”

I watch him lift another pan filled with a mountain of scrambled eggs to a bowl that matches my coffee cup, and I almost moan from the sight of it. He turns around and puts plates and forks in the middle of the kitchen island, then goes back to fetch another plate with toast. He walks around me, his fingertips sliding across my lower back, and fetches the butter box from the fridge along with a jar of strawberry jam from his farm.

What a feast.

I bite my lip.

“What would you have done if I were a vegetarian?”

He narrows his eyes, his coffee mug raised halfway to his mouth.

“I’d have to punish you if you were.” He takes a sip, his lips pulling up in a knowing smile.

My lips twitch and I blink innocently at him, trying to keep a straight face, even though his words send a rush of warmth through me.

“Really?” I reach for some bacon and pop a piece into my mouth. “And why do you think I’d let you do that?”