Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Lavender

"Hi," I say breathlessly after what might qualify as the best kiss of my entire life. My heart is still racing, and my skin tingling with the aftershocks of our connection.

"You okay?" he asks with a cocky tone, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes in my flushed cheeks and dazed expression.

"That was unexpected," I manage to say, my voice still a little shaky as I try to regain my composure. "What happened to slow?"

He traces my lower lip with his thumb, his touch sending shivers down my spine. "I said it when you were miles away from me. Now . . . Well, how can I ignore such a beautiful woman?"

I feel my cheeks heat up even more at his words, a giddy smile spreading across my face. "Wow, smooth, McFolley," I tease, trying to change the tone and mask the effect he has on me.

Sinclair winks at me. "You haven't seen smooth, yet."

"Are you saying you're a player then?" I challenge, raising an eyebrow at him.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No. Not even close, but I'm glad I can fake it enough for you to believe me." He takes my hand in his, interlacing our fingers. "Why don't I invite you to breakfast? We can catch up before we have to go to work."

"How long are you staying?" I ask, trying to keep the hopeful note out of my voice.

"Four weeks, though I'll have to do some remote work during the day," he admits, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

"If you were busy—" I start, but he cuts me off with a quick peck on the lips.

"I'd rather be here, with you. I might not be able to relax one hundred percent, but I'll take anything that I can get—as long as I'm with you."

I feel my heart swell at his words, a warmth spreading through my chest. "As I said, you're a smooth talker," I tease, but I can't hide the smile that tugs at my lips.

"No, I just decided that maybe going after what I want should apply to every aspect of my life," he says, pulling me closer as we start walking toward town, our hands still intertwined. "My most important goal right now is to get to know you. The rest can be managed in other ways."

And I think after that confession, I'm falling for this guy even more. Is that even possible?

Yeah, which again, is strange, but true. Sinclair McFolley has been getting under my skin gradually, seeping into my thoughts and my dreams until he's become an integral part of my life. I'm not sure how he did it, but somehow, he managed to break down my defenses.

I enjoy Sin's texts, the way they brighten my day and make me feel connected to him even when we're apart. Waking up early because he's ready to start his day bothered me the first two days because I'm so not a morning person. But after that, I've enjoyed every single moment of them, cherishing the opportunity to be a part of his life, even in this small way.

And then there's the thing that he told me yesterday while we were on the phone. He doesn't want to be just friends, but more. The mere thought of it sends a thrill through me, a mix of excitement and nerves that leaves me giddy and breathless.

This guy has been slowly but surely breaking down my walls, chipping away at the barriers I've built around my heart until I can't help but let him in. The man embargo is over, well sort of, because I wouldn't lift it for just anyone—only him.

As we walk hand in hand toward the B&B to go out for breakfast. I can't help but feel like I'm exactly where I'm meant to be, like this is the start of something big, something life-changing, but wonderful and terrifying all at once.

We drive to the town square, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the quaint storefronts and bustling sidewalks. The morning sunlight spills over the dashboard, casting a warm glow that seems to accentuate the easy silence between us.

"I've actually never been to this diner," Sinclair confesses as he expertly maneuvers into a parking spot right in front of the quaint establishment. "But I've heard their breakfast is worth writing home about."

He turns off the car, and in one fluid motion, exits and strides over to my side. The click of the door signals his arrival, and he opens it with a flourish, offering me his hand with a playful bow. "Madam," he jests, and I can't help but giggle as I take his hand, stepping out into the cool morning air.

We approach the diner's entrance, and Sinclair reaches out to open the door, holding it wide for me with a gentle nod. "After you," he says, and I step inside, immediately greeted by the comforting and alluring aromas of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon .

As we enter the cozy diner, the atmosphere is warm and welcoming, buzzing with the murmurs of early risers and clinking cutlery. Sinclair guides me to a booth by the window, his hand briefly resting on the small of my back—a touch so slight yet reassuring.

"Ah, the classic diner experience," he grins, sliding into the booth after ensuring I'm comfortably seated. "Is there anything better than pancakes and bacon on a lazy morning?"

I laugh, the sound mingling with the soft hum of the diner. "I don't know, a mimosa might give it a run for its money."

He gasps, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "You're wrong. Nothing beats the holy trinity of pancakes, bacon, and coffee."

Just then, a perky college-aged waitress bounces up to our table, her blonde ponytail swinging and a bright smile on her face. "Good morning. Welcome to Rosie's Diner, where the coffee's always hot and the bacon's always crispy. Can I interest you in our daily specials? We've got a mouthwatering spinach and feta omelette or a stack of blueberry pancakes that'll make your taste buds sing. And of course, we've got plenty of coffee to fuel your day."

Sinclair flashes her a charming smile. "I'll just have the pancakes with a side of bacon, please. And a coffee, black."

The waitress nods, jotting down his order on her notepad. "You got it. And for you, miss?"

"Make that two," I add, "but I'll have an orange juice instead, please."

As the waitress walks away, Sinclair reaches across the table, taking my hand in his. His thumb brushes the back of my hand gently, sending a wave of tingles up my arm. "I'm really glad we're doing this," he says, his voice soft yet earnest.

"Having breakfast?" I tease, trying to lighten the moment with a playful grin.

"No, taking a small break before the camp starts. I really wanted to see you last night, but I arrived after midnight and didn't want to wake you up," he explains.

"Where are you staying?" I ask, curious and a bit hopeful about his proximity.

"Paul's for now. Apparently, you have plenty of roommates in the house."

I shrug. "Yeah, there are a few more counselors from out of town. They're all fun though. So you'll be staying with your brother?"

He shakes his head, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. "Nope. I'm getting a room at the B&B and then looking for a house."

"A house?" My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Are you moving here? I mean, Genie mentioned that your siblings seemed to fall in love with Kentbury and decided to stay forever. Though I didn't think you would since you have your business in Boston."

"No, but we might as well have a place where we can crash when we come back to visit family and friends," he says, his gaze drifting out the window momentarily.

My heart skips a beat at his casual use of "we." I clear my throat, trying not to show my surprise. " Umm, not to rain on your parade, but I don't have money to buy a house . . . or family in town."

He flinches slightly, his smile faltering. "Well, not now, but later," he stumbles over his words, clearly not having thought that far ahead.

"Oh, you're back on a race against yourself," I laugh, shaking my head gently. "We're definitely not there yet. We haven't even had a first date yet."

"I might agree, but you have to admit that even if we don't get together for another year or five, the house will come in handy," he argues, his tone hopeful. "You said it yourself. You'd like to come more often. Wouldn't you want to be comfortable in your own place?"

"Your place," I correct him softly, my voice low.

"Semantics," he says with a bashful smile, looking a bit embarrassed.

"You're adorable, you know? I like how you think ahead," I admit, the corners of my mouth curling up in amusement. Sometimes, his forward-thinking is part of his charm, even if it is a bit premature.

As if on cue, our food arrives swiftly, with the bacon sizzling and as crispy as promised. We dig into our meal, the conversation flowing easily. Sinclair steals a bite of my pancakes, and I retaliate by swiping a piece of his perfectly crispy bacon.

"Thief," he accuses, pointing his fork at me with feigned indignation.

"All's fair in love and breakfast," I retort, popping a piece of the bacon into my mouth with a triumphant grin.

He clutches his heart dramatically, leaning back in the booth. "Oh, so it's love now, is it?" His eyes sparkle with mischief and something warmer. "Look who's the one thinking forward and skipping steps."

I feel my cheeks heat up, but I can't stop the wide smile spreading across my face. "Maybe it will be soon. What are you going to do about it?"

He leans in, his voice low and intimate, sending a shiver down my spine. "Well, first, I'm going to finish these amazing pancakes. And then . . ."

"And then?" I prompt, my heart skipping a beat in anticipation.

"And then I'm going to take you out on a proper date. One that doesn't involve syrup stains and bacon theft."

I laugh, feeling giddy and lighthearted at his proposal. "I think I could be persuaded. Just remember, we have camp starting in a couple of hours," I say, my voice playful yet sincere, the morning taking a turn into something unexpectedly delightful.