Page 67 of If We Never Met

"But you still know who he is. Sometimes, I wish I knew what my father was like, but my mother hates to talk about him. You'd think over time, she'd have a fond memory here and there, but if she does, she doesn't share them. Maybe they weren't that happy in their marriage." She took a breath. "I don't know why I keep sharing such personal information about my life. I never talk about my dad."

"I never talk about mine, either, but when I'm with you…"

Their gazes clung together for a long moment, the air going from comfortable to tense, but it was a good kind of tension, the kind of sizzle that usually led to more. But Keira was fighting their attraction, and he understood why. He should fight it, too. He didn't need more complications in his life, but he'd never been one to walk away from something or someone he wanted.

"It's easy," she said. "Talking to you."

"Right back at you. I have to say something, Keira, something I should have said before."

"What's that?"

"I know I upset you when I said you were using your mom as an excuse, and I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I know you've been through a lot with her, and I admire your sacrifice. You are an amazing daughter. And you want to protect her, and I can respect that."

She blinked some new moisture out of her eyes. "That's nice of you to say but taking care of someone you love isn't a sacrifice." She sniffed. "I'm so tired, my eyes are watering."

"That's a good excuse."

"I'm really not a crier."

"Me, either, except when I strike out. Then I can be a big baby," he joked.

"Does it even matter if you hit? I thought pitchers were only responsible for throwing strikes."

"Even though it's not what they pay me for, I think I'm a good hitter, and I don't like it when I don't do well."

"So, you cry?"

"Well, not anymore," he said dryly. "But when I was a little kid, after strikeouts, I had a lot of allergy attacks to explain my watery eyes."

"I can't see you crying."

"I worked really hard to be good. I hated when I wasn't living up to my expectations. No one could make me feel worse than myself."

"We have that in common. That's why that damn wedding dress is driving me crazy. But I'm going to look at it tomorrow with a fresh eye, and I might even think about what you said earlier, that maybe it's not just about the dress. But that's tomorrow."

"Still hours away," he murmured. "What do you want to do with the rest of the night?"

She swallowed hard, her eyes glittering with desire. "That's a loaded question."

"I know."

"We're supposed to just be friends, Dante. I don't want to make Nikki's story true."

"Her story doesn’t matter. We know what's true."

"Do we?" she challenged. "Aren't we lying just a little when we don't acknowledge that we kissed before you broke up with her?"

"You're right. We did kiss. Maybe that was cheating."

"It was cheating, even if we want to pretend that it was just a moment of temporary insanity."

"The thing is, Keira, that moment didn't feel insane. It's the rest of my life that seems crazy. Kissing you felt right. I know I'm leaving, but that's not happening tonight or tomorrow, or even next week."

Indecision played through her eyes. "I can't deny I'm attracted to you. But you're not thinking about the future; you're thinking about right now."

"It's all that matters. Neither of us knows what's going to happen, but we can enjoy where we are." He paused. "Or not. I don't want to push you toward something you don't want. It's all good. We can be friends. I can go back to the inn. We don't have to take this any further. I don't want to hurt you, so whatever—"

"Stop talking," she interrupted, putting a finger across his lips.

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