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“Especially if you go through them one at a time.”

“I could commiserate with Maha about the trials of being an older sister.”

“Maha loved it. She’s a born leader.”

“So are you.”

He turned briefly from the driveway to her. His expression revealed surprise and pleasure. He held a senior position at his workplace and was surprised she saw him as a leader? Was his self-doubt the natural questioning of an artist, or because as third child he’d always have been playing catchup?

“Just a different kind.” She squeezed his thigh in encouragement.

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Dad’s my hero.”

“Not Maha or Hunt?”

“You’d put Maha ahead of Hunt?” He frowned.

“Tough choice, but Maha strikes me as a fearless straight shooter. Although I’ve only met her at the wedding and a few of the pre-wedding gatherings, and she was smiling a lot. No serious topics came up. Anna’s a big fan of her work.”

“My sister is a straight shooter, so’s Hunt. They tell me the truth, even when they know it’ll hurt,” he said, seemingly lost in thought. “I admire them as much as I love them.”

“So, why your father?”

“He reminds me of some of those comic book gods you worship as a kid. Courageous, determined, sure of his path. He’s both an inspiration and kind to his employees. He’s also totally honest,” he murmured, parking the car in front of the house.

“No wonder you’re proud of him,” Bea said.

Do you even know how many of those characteristics you share, Casildo?

“Want a kiss for luck?”

“No.”

“I might need one.”

“Answer’s still no.” Bea dropped her voice.

“Why are you whispering?” He leaned toward her.

“Because your mother’s watching from the front bay windows.

“Al’ama! Thanks for the save.”

Had he been serious? Since their kiss—kisses—in the café at the beginning of the week, even their almost kiss last night, the air between them had changed. He’d been more subtly affectionate, touching her occasionally, resting his shoulder against hers when she stirred something at the stove, watching her with a look in his eyes she couldn’t define, but which gave her goose bumps. They’d each revealed more. She’d had dinner with her sisters to prevent her from sharing more.

Fat lot of good that did.

I went on a picnic today, snuggled into him until there wasn’t a centimetre between us, then barely breathed hoping he’d do more than kiss my hair.

He hadn’t spelled out his plans, but he’d admitted to a side hustle. If textile design was his side hustle, he’d have his hands full.

Bea had confessed to being unavailable, but hadn’t revealed the specifics.

So, attraction, but no future. They were clear on the rules.

“Let’s make a move,” he said.

Bea followed him the short distance to the front door. She’d worn the kind of outfit she’d wear for an informal work function. Wide, loose dark trousers, topped by a Made590 shirt, which her family had pooled funds to buy for her last birthday. She rubbed the soft voile between her fingers. A gorgeous shirt and the spurt of guilt spiked without warning, threatening to pierce her new-found pleasure at her independence.