Page 18 of At First Flight (Coral Bell Cove #1)

Oliver and I finish up the dishes and make our way up to the bathroom, following the spurts of giggles, both male and female, mixing with the telltale sound of splashing water.

Dean’s shirt is soaked through, the white cotton molded to him like a second skin. I have to force my tongue to stay in my mouth so he doesn’t catch me ogling him.

“Hey, my man, ready for your turn?” he asks Oliver as Evelyn stands and reaches her arms out for him. Swapping places, I take the toddler out of the bath and wrap her in a bright pink towel.

Unlike his sister, Oliver speeds through his bath, the duo joining us in the bedroom as I tug the llama pajama pants onto Evelyn.

The couple of hours before their bedtime are spent in the playroom, and I notice Dean frowning at his phone as it continues to ping with notifications. At one point, he either mutes or turns it off and shoves it in his pocket with a deep frown etched on his face.

The kids fall asleep rapidly as Dean reads them a story, Evelyn slumbering across his lap while Oliver’s head is tucked under Dean’s arm. Without thinking, I grab my phone and snap a picture of the trio, ignoring more of Prescott’s unread messages.

Downstairs, I pour myself another glass of wine and settle against the plush couch in the living room. Beyond the French doors is a screened-in deck running the expanse of the back of the house. I can’t wait to spend time out there in the summer.

Snap out of it, Lila. I need to keep reminding myself that this is not a permanent situation. Just something to tide me over until I can get a new research grant and find a facility.

But watching the sunset over the bay leaves an ache in my chest. I’ve missed the town and people here and how, even though everyone knows your business, they are the biggest supporters.

“Hey.” Dean settles onto the couch next to me with a glass of amber liquid. So lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t even hear him descend the stairs and enter the room.

“Hi. Did you get the kids settled?”

“Yeah,” he says, sipping his beverage. “Oliver asked when his mom was coming to see the new house.”

I nearly spit my wine out. “Oh, Dean.”

He turns toward me, and I see the pools of water lining his lower lids. “How do I explain to them their mom isn’t ever coming back? How do I tell them that drugs meant more to their mom than they did? How do I navigate any of this?”

The nurturing part of me, the part that loved being a nanny when I was in high school and enjoyed babysitting my siblings, broke free. Reaching out, I grasp his hand and intertwine his fingers with mine.

“Dean, just one step at a time. That’s the only thing you can do.”

“I never wanted this…being a father. The fun uncle? The one that sneaks treats after bed and plays hooky from school? That’s me. I’m not sure I can handle all this responsibility…but I want to try. I’m just…out of my element.”

“I think just questioning whether you’re capable of being a parent means you’re already on the right path to being one. No one can be prepared to answer the sort of questions you’ll face, Dean. Just answer honestly and help them understand that your sister had some flaws but loved them very much.”

“Did she, though?”

“I can’t answer that, but they adore you. You can do this, Dean, with or without my help.” I squeeze his hand gently and start to pull my hand away, but Dean tightens his grip as he settles onto the couch.

I hate to admit how good his hand feels against mine. Despite his silver-spoon upbringing, Dean’s hands are rough. My dad always said that was a clear sign of a hard worker.

The silence that grows between us isn’t uncomfortable, but the mood is still heavy, like a weighted blanket that’s not as cozy.

I twist on the couch, tucking one of my feet under my opposite knee. The selfish part of me doesn’t release Dean’s hand. I don’t think I could if I tried.

“So, Ashvi had some interesting things to say about you.”

Dean’s body tenses before he turns his face toward me. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, something about you being on a list of billionaire heirs.”

“Mm-hmm, not just any list—world’s sexiest.”

He wags his eyebrows, and I find myself giggling.

“How much did you have to pay to rig that list in your favor?” I joke.

Leaning closer to me, Dean brushes his thumb back and forth across my hand. “You don’t think I could have won it on my own? Don’t you think I’m sexy?”

That silly song about being too sexy starts playing in the background of my mind as I lock eyes with Dean. Another giggle threatens to burst forth.

“I…” I begin just as Dean rotates his entire body to face mine, mimicking how I’m sitting. “I think I should head to bed.”

“It’s seven thirty.”

“Well, maybe I’m tired.”

“Or maybe I make you nervous.”

“You don’t,” I reply, my voice cracking midway.

Somehow, Dean’s closer now, his face mere inches away from mine. My fingers itch to reach out and touch the stubble along his jaw.

“I think you want me to kiss you.”

Breathlessly, I reply, “Wrong again.”

His eyes trace my movements as I lick my lips.

Suddenly, his mood shifts, and Dean moves back against the couch and takes a sip of his drink before reaching for the remote on the coffee table.

“Whatever you say, ghost girl.”

Brusquely, I stand from the couch, my wine nearly spilling from my glass.

“I think I’ll spend the rest of the evening in the library.

Thank you very much.” My feet smack against the hardwoods as I move toward the front of the house, where I noticed a small library filled with books earlier.

I make sure to grab the wine bottle on my way.

Just as I’m about to turn down the hall, Dean’s deep voice calls out, “You know, I’m not going to kiss you until you ask me.”

“Not going to happen.”

Dean’s laughter fills the living room as I walk away. I swear I hear him say, “It will.”

“Arrogant bastard.”