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“How’s that taste? Auntie said it was your favourite.”
“What did you do?”
I shrug, feigning innocence. “Whatever do you mean? Does something not agree with you?”
Amelia glances between us, her eyes narrowing. “Triona…” she begins, but there’s no mistaking the flicker of amusement behind her words.
“She looked like she needed something savoury and sweet to start the day.”
Amelia sips her tea, oblivious to my quiet amusement. “What am I missing?”
“Your lovely niece salted the leite creme.”
Deidre dabs at her lips with a napkin, her composure quickly returning. “You’ll regret this,” she mutters, though the faintest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“Will I?” I ask, unable to hide my grin.
“Oh, you will,” she says, pointing her spoon at me like a weapon.
Amelia shakes her head, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “You’re as bad as each other,” she mutters, sipping her tea.
As Deidre’s gaze lingers on me with playful menace, I feel a minor victory warm my chest. Harmless payback.
The soft clinking of plates and cups fills the air, our conversation light and unhurried. Then, the door to the dining room creaks open, and everything changes.
Finn steps inside, and it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room. My breath catches, and a quiet tension ripples through me.
Amelia glances up first, her greeting poised and warm. “Good morning, Finn,” she says, breaking the spell just enough to remind me to breathe.
Deidre follows, her smile just as warm and inviting as Amelia’s.
I hear his steps, slow and deliberate, as he moves toward them. My pulse thrums loudly in my ears when he leans down to kiss Amelia’s cheek. Her soft laugh follows, a sound as natural as breathing.
Deidre greets him with her usual composed charm, tilting her face slightly as he places a kiss on her cheek as well. They exchange a few pleasantries, their voices low, but I can’t make out the words. I don’t need to. Every movement, every sound coils tighter in my chest as he finishes with them.
The air shifts again, the weight of his presence circling around the table as his footsteps grow louder. I feel him approach before I see him, his shadow casting long across the table as he comes to a stop beside me.
For a moment, nothing happens. My gaze remains fixed on my plate, my knuckles white as I clutch my fork. Then, slowly, I lift my eyes, drawn to him as though by some invisible tether.
His face is calm, unreadable, but his eyes—they burn with something unspoken, something raw and overwhelming. It’s too much and not enough all at once.
“Good mornin’,” he says, his voice low and rich, each word laced with quiet intensity.
Before I can muster a response, he leans in, his movements deliberate and unhurried. His lips brush against my cheek, soft and warm, a fleeting touch that chills me.
My heart is near to bursting, and my eyes sting with the threat of tears. The emotion in his gaze, the tenderness in his touch—it’s overwhelming. He lingers, his warmth so close it’s almost unbearable, before pulling away.
He straightens, turning to the table where the pastries and fruit are laid out, and begins assembling a plate with the same calm precision he always carries.
Amelia clears her throat, her voice cutting through the lingering tension like a lifeline. “We were just saying how lovely a trip to town would be,” she says, her tone light and casual.
Deidre hums in agreement, pouring herself another cup of tea. “It’s high time we visited the market. I’m sure we’ll find something delightful.”
“Is this leite creme?” Finn asks, with so much excitement that the guilt momentarily distracts me from the mix of emotions in me.
“Don’t bother,” Deidre says as she eyes me. “Triona went and salted it all to get back at me.”
Finn chuckles. When I dare to glance up, his eyes meet mine for the briefest second, and it’s enough to undo me all over again.
