Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Sinclair

I spend the rest of the night juggling spreadsheets and brainstorming strategies to save my father's company—a kind of late-night heroics that involves less capes and more caffeine. The stakes are high: I'm playing for the livelihood of the company's employees, hoping to keep them from the unemployment line. But as much as I'm focused on this mission, Lavender keeps sneaking into my thoughts, her vibrant presence refusing to be ignored.

Her playful taunts and easy laughter echo through my mind, a delightful distraction that refuses to be silenced. Earlier, we had casually thrown around the idea of having ‘friend dates,' a simple, no sex and no-strings-attached way to enjoy each other's company through the summer weeks.

It sounded straightforward, uncomplicated. But here I am, questioning whether something more real might be forming between us, a connection that runs deeper than mere companionship. It's not just about passing the time in Kentbury anymore—how could it be when I find myself thinking about her at the oddest moments, my heart skipping a beat at the mere mention of her name?

And then, there's that accidental proposition. Sure, she laughed it off, saying it was all a big misunderstanding. But the idea lodged itself in my brain, and now it's like a song stuck on repeat. Just imagining being close to her somehow turns my brain into a lovesick poet, crafting sonnets about the curve of her smile and the depths of her eyes.

The worst part is that I'm no poet. All I read in my spare time are thrillers and the news, stories of suspense, and cold, hard facts. But here I am, thinking about Lavender Wilde, her playful green eyes and the way I want to take her mouth, to claim it as my own—slowly and tenderly, I'd savor every moment, every soft sigh and whispered breath.

I can almost feel the brush of her lips against mine, the way her body would melt into my embrace as we lose ourselves in the kiss. It wouldn't be just a physical connection, but a meeting of souls, a profound shift in the very fabric of my being. With one kiss, Lavender would become the axis upon which my world turns, the gravitational force that pulls me ever closer.

I imagine the way her fingers would tangle in my hair, the way our hearts would beat in perfect sync as we explore this newfound intimacy. In that moment, everything else would fade away—the spreadsheets, the company's troubles, the weight of the world on my shoulders.

All that would matter is the feel of her in my arms, the knowledge that we've found something rare and precious in each other.

It's a fantasy, I know, but one that I can't seem to shake. Even as I try to focus on the task at hand, my mind keeps drifting back to Lavender, to the possibility of a future where we're more than just friends, more than just two people passing through each other's lives. I want to be the one to make her smile, to be the reason her eyes light up with joy and passion.

How could I focus on anything else when I can't stop picturing her, the warmth of her skin against mine, the taste of her lips on my own?

It's her own fault for propositioning me—even when she didn't mean to do it. Just the idea of being with her somehow makes me feel like I'm on cloud nine. Which sounds too damn corny and something I have never wanted to experience in my life.

Dragging my attention back to the spreadsheets, I try to refocus on profit margins and market predictions. But let's be honest, financial forecasts are no match for daydreams of Lavender's smile, the way her laughter seems to light up the room. It seems my late-night number crunching has turned into crafting mental scenarios where things between us evolve beyond casual hikes and shared laughter, a future where we build something real and lasting together.

Surprisingly, the next morning I wake up fresh even after only a few hours of sleep. I go for my daily run and, deciding to smooth over any lingering tension, I head to my grandmother's bakery.

"What brings you here so early, Sin?" Grandma greets me, her eyes crinkling with joy as she pulls me into a warm hug. "Don't tell me you're leaving so soon because I won't have that. You haven't been visiting me as often as I'd like and I've yet to learn more about you."

This lady is becoming one of my favorite people. I don't think my mother has ever been as concerned and affectionate as Grandma Genie.

When I first arrived, I thought it was some kind of trick to keep me around just like she's done with my siblings. However, after a few days I realized that she honestly cares for us—no tricks.

The other two are my sisters. I always had a soft spot for them, but after they moved to Kentbury, they've been calling me more often and showing me that I matter to them. I regret not looking out for them the way they deserved after things blew up with our dad, but I'm trying my best to make it up to them after everything that's happened.

"Don't worry, I'm not leaving just yet," I assure her. "I promised I'd stay for at least two weeks—and we have a lunch date today, remember? How could you think that I'm leaving?"

She grins. "The ladies at the crochet club are delighted to know you'll be joining us."

Those ladies are flirty, but Paul promised me that none of them are dangerous. They might try to introduce me to their granddaughters, but that's pretty standard for the grandmas in general.

"So, what can I do for you?" Grandma asks, her hands on her hips.

"Just thought I'd start the day with some of your magical treats," I say, leaning over the counter to kiss her cheek. "I'm sharing them with the guests at the B&B."

She gives me a skeptical look, her brow furrowed. "You leave the Wilde girl alone, you hear me."

I lift my hands in resignation, my eyes wide with innocence. "No one is doing anything."

"Good, because that girl needs a man who wants to build a life with her, and we both know you're not there yet."

I feel a flash of offense, my shoulders tensing. "Why does everyone keep telling me that?" I ask, my voice rising slightly. "It's like you're automatically shoving me into the damaged goods pile—don't touch, return to factory for destruction."

"That's not true. Your sisters already told you what you have to do. You need to learn to open your heart first. Now tell me what treats would you like so I can pack them for you," she says, her tone brooking no argument.

"Croissants, maybe a few cookies, and one of those éclairs I can't resist," I say, my mouth watering at the thought.

"You're spoiled, but I'll give you two," she says, shaking her head with a fond smile.

Grandma prepares a box of freshly baked goods including croissants—butter, almond, and chocolate. "There, now remember to be good to that girl," she says, handing me the box with a pointed look.

I salute her before grabbing the box. "Thanks, Grandma. You're the best."

I stop by the café where I buy myself a black coffee and then three different drinks for Lavender since I don't know what she prefers. With the pastries and drinks securely in hand, I make my way back to the B&B. As I enter the dining area, I spot Lavender about to prepare herself some coffee, her hair tousled from sleep and a soft yawn escaping her lips.

"Good morning, Lavender," I greet, my voice casual as I approach her table, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Before you make that tea, why don't you try one of these?"

She points at the drink carrier, her eyebrows raised in curiosity. "And what is that?"

"Chamomile tea, hot chocolate, and a latte," I explain, setting the drinks down on the table.

She thinks for a moment, her fingers tapping against her chin before a smile blooms on her face and she reaches for the hot chocolate. "Three?"

"I didn't know what you preferred, so I brought the three drinks I've seen you enjoy during our conversations," I admit, shrugging my shoulders.

"That's really thoughtful, Sinclair. Thank you," she says, her voice warm with appreciation.

"Or if you prefer, you can have my black coffee," I add, holding up my own cup.

She smiles, opening the box of pastries. Her gaze lingers on the croissants before settling on the drinks, a soft sigh of contentment escaping her lips. "This is really perfect. Thank you."

"But what is it that you drink in the morning?" I ask, leaning forward slightly.

"Usually, green tea—matcha," she responds, her fingers wrapped around the hot chocolate. "Though, I'll take anything that's available. I'm not really picky about it."

"Matcha, got it," I say, making a mental note.

"You don't need to remember that," she says, waving her hand dismissively.

"Oh, but I do if I plan on being your friend," I say, letting a slow, knowing smile spread across my face as I lean in slightly, my eyes locked on hers with playful intent.

"Friends don't flirt," she chides, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"Not even a little?" I ask suggestively, wiggling my eyebrows.

"Not at all. "

I rub the back of my neck, feeling a twinge of disappointment. "I feel like you're friendzoning me."

"Isn't that the point of this exercise?" she asks, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. "That we become friends."

"Probably," I admit, but somehow I don't like it much. Maybe I need to rethink this process, don't I?

As Lavender takes a bite of the warm croissant, a soft moan escapes her lips, her eyes fluttering closed in pure bliss. The sound sends a shiver down my spine, and I find myself staring, unable to look away. What is this woman doing to me?

And how am I supposed to keep my hands away from her while I get to know her? How is that supposed to work out? I wonder, my mind racing with thoughts of pulling her close and tasting the sweetness of the chocolate on her lips.