Page 20 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)

CHAPTER TWELVE

KAYLA

B y mid-afternoon, we’re on our way to the town council meeting.

“Let’s skip the meeting today,” he says.

We’re walking hand-in-hand from the parking lot, our arms pressing against each other with every other step. I know I should be more curious about what Sean’s saying, but instead, I can’t get over how strong and thick his hand is.

I swear I’ll stop comparing him to Aldridge eventually, but who knew a hand could be so … masculine? Attractive? His fingers are broad and dexterous from years of hockey and bartending. They’re the kind of hands that know how to carry weight—literally and figuratively.

Aldridge’s hands were made for signing contracts and cutting ribbons. Nice to look at, but impractical. And he held mine like it was a prop—like we were posing for a “Couple Goals” campaign. All polished performance.

Holding Sean’s hand is nothing like that. How ironic is it that Aldridge is the one I was in a real relationship with, yet holding Sean’s hand already feels more natural than Aldridge’s ever did?

Or is that I feel more natural? More authentic?

“You on board with skipping the meeting?” Sean asks, pulling my attention from his hand to his mouth.

“Sorry, I was distracted. Why are we skipping exactly? Don’t I need to defend my ownership of the team?”

“Didn’t you do that yesterday?” he says with a nudge.

A smile pushes my cheeks up.

We climb the stairs to City Hall. The steps are cracked in places, with old ivy snaking along the side rails like it’s trying to dress up the aging facade.

The brick exterior could use a good power-wash, but the lawn is freshly mowed, and a row of flowerpots adds an oddly charming touch.

Right before we go inside, Sean stops me and puts his arms around me.

There are a handful of people around, so it makes sense for us to have some PDA right now.

What doesn’t make sense is how much I enjoy the feeling of his hands on the small of my back, pressing me close enough to be convincing to any onlookers.

My pulse triples as Sean looks down at me. “I know you’re still learning about sports, Boss, but the best defense is a good offense.”

I smile, because I actually get what he’s saying. “Maybe that works in hockey, but I have it on good authority that in baseball, hitting wins games, but pitching wins championships.”

“You really are in the right sport,” he says, putting his lips right up to my ear. “You and that big, beautiful strategy brain.”

His nearness makes my eyes close.

No, I mean, other people’s nearness makes my eyes close. Because this is for show.

No one needs to know how much I’m enjoying it.

“How many kisses do we get per outing again?” His words whisper against my skin, sending goosebumps up and down my arms.

“Get? You sure you don’t mean permit?”

“I said what I said.”

My thoughts coil around us like smoke but vanish on the wind just as quickly. All of my awareness is centered on three points of contact: his hands splayed on my lower back. My hands at the nape of his neck. And his lips at my ear.

Goodness gracious.

I close my eyes, trying to focus. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

He chuckles and presses his lips against my cheek, letting them linger there long enough to feel him inhale and exhale against me. His warm breath sends a wave of tingles down my neck, straight into my chest.

“Oh, right. You get one kiss per setting,” I say so quietly, I’m not sure he can even hear me. “Use it wisely.”

His beard rubs against my cheek, and the sensation brings my hands up to his face, my nails finding the soft whiskers, brushing with the grain. Sean tightens his grip on me.

Then he plunges his face in my neck and kisses, making me squeal. “I’d rather keep you guessing,” he says before letting go of me.

He grabs the door for me, and I smack his shoulder as I pass and bite my lip—so I don’t bite his.

Pull yourself together , I tell myself.

The inside smells faintly of lemon cleaner and old wood floors that look like they’re original to the building. Light streams from second story windows into the open lobby. A plastic pot of fake sunflowers sits at the front desk, trying too hard.

And right beside those fake flowers is …

Serena.

Serena is the receptionist at City Hall?

Sean takes my hand like he doesn’t notice his ex there at all.

But he has to know she works here, right? Was that show outside for her or for the town?

What does it say about me that I hope it’s the latter?

Sean squeezes my hand as we approach the desk. He gives me an easy smile before he lets go of my hand.

“Hey there,” Sean says amiably, taking a pen and sticky note from the desk. “We have a note to leave for Mayor Kent.”

Serena’s eyes drop to my left hand and then sharpen like broken glass. “So, the rumors are true. You two had a shotgun wedding.”

I can’t help but laugh. “‘You two had a shotgun wedding,’” I repeat. “Did you mean to say that out loud?”

Her eyes glint like steel. “Did you?”

I put my left hand on Sean’s back—not his shoulder, which would flash the ring in her face but would feel too pointed. “I guess you’ll see in about nine months, won’t you?”

“Honeymoon baby?” Sean asks, pausing his note to let his eyes rove over me. “I’m game if you are.”

I laugh and pull an envelope from my slate-blue crossbody, Sean puts the sticky note on it, and we give it to a fuming Serena.

I take a peek at the note.

Heard you’re having a big meeting today. Wanted to share our good news, in case you missed it. My wife’s real sorry to miss, but we have better things to do today. I’m sure you understand.

-Sean

“Thanks, Serena,” Sean says, putting his arm around my waist and turning us both around.

“You won’t even give this town the respect of staying?” she asks. “Figures.”

I stop and turn around, even though I can feel Sean tugging on me, not wanting to engage. “Or maybe I respect my wedding vows more than social standing.”

Sean pulls the door open for me, and Serena leaves us with her parting shot, her voice all syrup and scorn:

“What do you want me to tell Dakota, Sean? This is going to break her heart.”

I gasp.

Sean drops his head, out of frustration or hurt, I don’t know.

“Serena, what you tell Dakota is between her and you. I told her I’d always be there for her, and I will. I just won’t be showing up at your door to do it.”

His tone is calm—almost gentle. There’s no give in it.

But there is pain.

Sean takes my hand and leads me out of the building.

I sniff. “It’s a good thing you were here, or I’d have torn that woman apart.”

He gives me a confused look. “Why?”

“No one talks to my man like that.”

“I’m your man, huh?”

“For better or for worse.”

“I’ll take those odds.”

After our run-in with Serena, we get in Sean’s Silverado, and he shifts it into drive with a little more oomph than usual.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

His strong jaw seems to widen, like he’s flexing it, not that I can see the movement beneath his thick beard.

“She always used Dakota against me. Anytime I called her out for flirting with other guys, anytime I wanted to take a step back, all she had to do was say Dakota’s name, and I was powerless. ”

I lean against the back of the seat and watch him. Everything about him is strong and solid, like foundation and framework. But I get the sense he thinks that’s all he is—a support beam for someone else’s life instead of the person you build a life around.

And that makes me furious.

“She weaponized her own daughter to keep you under her thumb? That’s not how you treat another person,” I say, barely keeping myself from spitting fire.

“You or her. That poor little girl is going to grow up with a distorted view of what love is and how to get it. But that’s not your fault or your responsibility. ”

“I could have changed it. How is that not my responsibility?”

My brain whirs like a laptop. “Good point. You know, I heard about a kid who broke his arm falling off the jungle gym at the park last week. You could’ve stopped that if you’d only hovered by the monkey bars every afternoon and caught him.”

“That’s different, and you know it.”

“You don’t owe Dakota anything more than you do that little boy at the park. Serena made sure of that.”

“It’s not like I can stop caring.”

“Caring is different than beating yourself up about it.”

“Who says I’m beating myself up?”

“Your wife. That’s who.”

He sniffs.

“Sean, I don’t blame you for hurting still, but you have to stop letting Serena manipulate you. She doesn’t get to have it both ways. She chose to kick you out of Dakota’s life when she kicked you out of hers.”

“I could still be there for Dakota.”

“As what, a babysitter? Isn’t that why Serena kept you around all those years?”

He winces, and a prick in my chest tells me I’ve gone too far. Unfortunately, the way she treated him back there lit something in me. A foreign anger bubbles in me like lava. Thinking of her mistreating him makes me want to erupt.

“Are you not allowed to have boundaries? Are you not allowed to keep yourself safe from being hurt? Is that it?” The heat in my voice rises. “We’re supposed to throw ourselves in front of the same bus again and again because someone else calls it love?”

I scoff, not at him but at the injustice of it all. “Sean, that isn’t love; that’s manipulation. You’re not a consolation prize, and I’m not a trophy. We’re humans. Messy, amazing, spectacularly hot humans. We don’t belong on someone’s shelf.”

Sean’s brows knit together tightly, and I pull a knee up under my chin, feeling stupid. I took it too far, got too heated, said too much.

“Spectacularly hot?” he finally says.

I laugh, relief flooding me, along with embarrassment. “Did I say that?”

“You did.”

I bury my head in my hands. “I guess I got carried away.”

Sean pulls one of my hands down and holds it between us.

“You’re not a trophy,” he says. “But at least Aldridge realized you were the grand prize.”

I look at our hands. “I’m sorry Serena didn’t treat you like the prize you are.”

Silence folds in around us, quiet and comfortable. The hum of the engine vibrates softly beneath us. As much as I want to say more, want to rant and rip on Serena, I want to give him space, too. Space to think or open up. Whatever he needs.

After a long pause, he finally speaks. His voice is quiet.

“I’ve never been anyone’s grand prize.” My chest squeezes at the pain in his voice.

“I’m the guy people call when they need something.

Serena only wanted me after Tucker left her.

She needed someone to step in for Dakota, so I stepped in. I always step in.”

He pauses and swallows.

“I stayed home when my dad got hurt. Took care of everything because Mom was gone. And yeah, I’m glad she came back. I really am. But if she’d stayed, if Patty had come home instead, maybe I wouldn’t have been needed at all.”

He shakes his head like he’s trying to toss those thoughts out the window.

“I chose to be here for them. I don’t regret that. I just …” He trails off. Pauses for even longer. “I don’t know who I am if I’m not needed.”

My heart twists. Before I can stop myself, my words slip out.

“You’re someone worth loving. Period.”

I expect silence to follow that. It was kind of a mic-drop moment, if I do say so myself.

“You have to say that. You’re my wife,” he says.

Deflection? Interesting. I wonder if I hit too close to home. Pushed the bruise a little too much.

But also, him calling me his wife …

“No, I get to say that.”

He smiles. “I like that you think I’m spectacularly hot. And that you went all Big Boss back there.”

I laugh, bumping my forehead on my knee. I roll my head toward him. “Something about you makes me get protective, I guess.”

“I bet that’s what you tell all the guys you kiss in bars and marry.”

I laugh again, still looking at him. Still holding his hand.

“Speaking of marriage, we never decided what we’re going to do about our last names. I think Sean Carville has a nice ring to it, don’t you?”

He snorts a laugh. “Is that how it’s gonna be?”

“That’s how it could be. No one would blame you for taking my name. It’s a great name.”

“So is O’Shannan.”

I take in a deep, loud breath. “I’ve been worried about how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it: I’m actually Scottish, Sean. Not Irish.”

Sean’s laughter breaks loose, all traces of hurt gone from his face. “Ouch. Don’t tell my dad that. I think your hair is what sold him on you.”

“In that case, maybe we’ll hyphenate. Carville-O’Shannan. Rolls right off the tongue. Or O’Shannan-Carville. Or maybe a portmanteau—Carnan. O-Shanville.”

He chuckles. “O’Shanville. Definitely. That’s not weird at all.”

I’m too busy admiring his laugh to notice where we are until he stops in front of a restaurant.

A restaurant?—

Panic clamps onto my lungs. I don’t eat in front of people. Especially not restaurants full of people.

I’m about to beg Sean to turn around when he says, “I hope you like smoothies.”

My eyes fly back to the front window, which is painted with cartoon fruit and blenders wearing sunglasses. And a sign overhead says “Fruitful Union Smoothies.”

“I love smoothies,” I say quietly, almost like a confession. “How did you know?”

He shrugs and gives my hand one last squeeze. “It felt right,” he says, but I see a tinge of pink on his cheek, just above his beard.

I kiss it.

“How many cheek kisses are we allotted a day again?” he asks right after I back up. He doesn’t sound as teasing as I think he wants to.

I grab my crossbody and beam at him. “Unlimited.”