Page 15

Twelve

Past

T he sun is high, warm against my skin, and the grass beneath me is soft as I sink onto the lawn.

Tiny, wriggling bodies press against me, tails wagging, noses nuzzling.

A puppy clambers into my lap, its oversized paws fumbling as it licks at my chin, and I laugh—truly laugh—for the first time in days.

It feels good to be here. At NEL. Among women I respect, doing something that matters.

For two weeks, I’ve drowned myself in work, hoping it would silence the gnawing guilt in my chest. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I shouldn’t have wanted to. But I did. I did kiss him and I did want it.

Canceling his appointments was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

But when I lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, the memory of his mouth barely brushing mine, of his fingers curled in my collar, won’t leave me.

I press my forehead against a puppy’s soft fur, exhaling slowly.

Enough, Robin.

A shadow moves in my periphery. I look up, smiling—until I see him.

Cooper.

He stands just beyond the volunteers, hands in his pockets, watching me. His sharp blue eyes lock on mine—intense, assessing.

I freeze.

Heat rushes up my neck, and I drop my gaze, schooling my expression before he can read what’s written all over my face. Damn him for being here.

I stand, brushing grass from my thighs, every muscle in my body stiffening. My heart pounds against my ribs as I stride toward him, expression blank, professional.

Before I can reach him, a figure steps into his path.

Aubry.

Her stance is rigid, arms crossed over her chest, chin tipped up in challenge. Her dark eyes narrow, and her body shifts, blocking me from view.

“You must be Cooper,” she says, voice even but edged with something sharp. “The one who volunteered last minute.”

A pause.

“Funny,” she adds, her gaze flicking over him. “You don’t look like a journalist.”

His eyes dart over her shoulder and lock on mine.

“What do I look like?” he asks, and there’s amusement in his voice, but his gaze… his gaze is something else entirely.

I force myself to hold it, to keep my expression neutral, unreadable. But it’s damn near impossible.

Aubry huffs, unimpressed. “Like someone who’s here for a reason other than journalism.”

Cooper chuckles, lifting his hands as if in surrender.

“I’m just here to cover the event,” he says smoothly.

“Puppies, good people, a wholesome cause—what’s not to love?

” His head tilts slightly, his focus never wavering.

“I was thinking of getting some candid shots. Maybe even some with that lady over there.”

He points to me.

My stomach tightens. Say no, I plead silently.

Aubry hesitates, glancing back at me, waiting for my reaction. She has no idea who he really is to me—how he’s unraveled me in ways I should be above.

The words are right there, waiting on my tongue. No. Absolutely not.

“Fine,” Aubry says and steps aside, but not before giving Cooper a warning look. He barely seems to notice, already lifting his camera, a knowing glint in his eyes.

I exhale slowly, forcing my limbs to loosen as I return to the grass.

The moment I sink down, the puppies are on me again—climbing over my legs, licking at my fingers. I reach out instinctively, stroking their warm fur, letting their joy ground me.

Then I feel it.

The weight of his gaze.

The distinct click of his camera.

I don’t have to look to know that he’s not just photographing the puppies.

He’s photographing me.

I tell myself I should ignore him. That I shouldn’t care. But my body betrays me. Heat pools low in my belly, spreading like wildfire as I imagine how I must look through his lens—soft smiles, messy hair, the bare skin of my calves exposed as I shift among the puppies.

Click.

I swallow.

Click.

I glance up just as he lowers the camera slightly, peering at me from above it, the edge of his mouth curved in something dangerously close to a smirk.

He knows.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

I shift, trying to refocus, but when I reach for a particularly squirmy puppy, my dress rides up just a couple inches higher. Click.

I exhale sharply.

He’s going to look at these later.

Study them.

Memorize them.

The thought makes me dizzy.

Cooper steps in closer, angling for a better shot. I catch the way his fingers tighten around the camera, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly before he recovers.

He’s affected too.

I should put a stop to this.

Get up. Walk away.

Instead, I let him take the picture.

“That’s enough,” I say, a hint of judgment in my voice.

Cooper extends a hand to help me up. I stare at it a moment too long in hesitation. He shakes it at me.

“It’s just a hand, Robin,” he says.

“Dr. Richardson to you.” I take his hand. The feeling of his warm, large hand around mine sends a shiver up my spine.

Cooper pulls me up to my feet. Our eyes meet for a lingering moment before I quickly look away.

“I should make myself useful,” I say, clearing my throat and dropping his hand.

I feel Cooper’s eyes following me. I try to ignore it, but the weight of his gaze is palpable.

I begin collecting the various dog toys strewn about.

My hands fumble with a knotted rope toy as I am painfully aware of him stepping closer.

He pauses right behind me, and I go still, heartbeat thumping in my ears.

Gently, he reaches around either side of me and picks up two stray tennis balls, dropping them into the bin.

His arm grazes mine, warmth radiating between us.

I close my eyes, biting my lip. Our proximity is electric, tension hanging thick in the air. Cooper’s chest nearly presses into my back as he lingers. I can smell his woodsy cologne, feel his steady breath against my neck.

“Robin…” he murmurs, voice low.

My name on his lips sends a spark down my spine. I turn my head slightly, eyes opening to meet his. They’re dark, pupils dilated. My lips part as I let out a shaky breath. Cooper’s eyes flicker down to my mouth.

Slowly, he starts to lean in. My heart pounds against my ribs. I can’t pull away. I tilt my chin up, eyes falling shut…

The spell shatters at the sound of a glass breaking. I startle and jerk away. Locating the culprit, I see Lotte near tears next to a pile of broken glass on the patio. Dallas is beside her hopelessly telling her it’s okay. My pulse slows.

“Excuse me, I need to go help,” I tell Cooper while pushing past him.