Page 24 of If Only In Our Dreams

I mean, sure, we were technically something family-adjacent. I knew he’d be there at Thanksgiving, and probably during Christmas too. We’d awkwardly pass by each other, maybe share a nod and smile—at Mama and her book club’s expense—but that would be it.

There would be no more games.

There would be no more flirting.

At least…that’s what I’d thought.

Until Robin showed up at my office two days later with a plastic femur in one hand, sunglasses on, and his cheeks pink from the cold.

My receptionist, Lynda, let him in, looking far too amused as Robin clomped his way through the open door to my office like a pint-sized goth avenger. He walked like he had a purpose, a purpose I found I was more than excited to be made privy to.

“You didn’t tell me the book club was hosted at the B&B,” he accused me, instead of a proper greeting. The door slid closed behind him with a click, and I swallowed the lump in my throat, suddenly oddly self-conscious of my space. It felt far too small with him in here. Too plain. What I’d once felt was a practical room, now felt bland.

“I didn’t know you were staying at the B&B,” I countered. Then, raising a brow, I glanced over his skin-tight black ensemble—and again, the too-thin floor-length black jacket—and back up to his face. “That wasn’t a very polite way to greet someone, Robin. Now, was it?”

Robin paused, femur in hand. He lowered the bone, his sunglasses slipping down his nose a little as his mouth closed with a quiet click. He seemed to agree because his eyes widened, and then softened. “I…guess not?”

“Would you like to try again?” I asked, not even sure what the fuck was coming out of my mouth right now, only that seeing him in my office was making me feel like the world as I’d known it was shattering apart.

Robin stared at me for a beat, like he was deciding whether or not he did. He ultimately seemed to come to the conclusion that he could’ve been more polite, however—probably the same Southern manners his brother seemed to possess coming to the surface—because he relaxed, pulled his sunglasses off, shoved them in his pocket, and beamed at me.

A big, sunny smile that lit up his whole face.

The smile made the dark circles under his eyes look even more out of place.

“Hi,” he said, grin turning sly as he glanced at the coffee mug on my desk, “Ben-nilla latte.”

It was close enough, so I ignored the ridiculous nickname and smiled right back. “Good morning, Robin.” I hardly recognized my voice, it was so warm. “Why do you have a femur in your hand?”

Robin stared down at the bone like he was surprised it was still there, and then he laughed. “Did you know the B&B is run by the cutest old lady in the world? Total fucking grouch. Wears a pinstripe suit every day and swears like a sailor.”

“Matilda Deed,” I hummed, eyes crinkling in amusement.

“She’ssocute, man.” Robin laughed, then flushed. “Is that rude to say? I hope not.”

“She is cute,” I agreed, heart fluttering like crazy as Robin crossed the distance between us and sat right on the corner of my desk like this was a totally normal and not at all invasive thing to do. I scooted my chair back to see him better, and he graciously offered me a turn with the femur. With a quirked brow, I shook my head, and Robin happily kept the bone to himself.

“Anyway—your mom was there. At the B&B. Because she and Matilda run the book club.”

“Right.”

“On Mondays.”

“Yes.”

“And she told me?—”

“Who? Matilda or my mother?”

“Your mom,” Robin grinned, eyes dancing. “Keep up, Benmantha. Really. It’s like you have the attention span of a goldfish.”

“Two nicknames within five minutes, really?”

“So youarepaying attention!” Robin crowed in triumph, wiggling happily, his cute butt shifting my papers over. He didn’t even notice, which made my belly fill with even more butterflies despite the fact that he was mussing my desk. My hands felt sweaty, his close proximity lighting me up all over again.

I’d thought I’d made that up.

My reaction to him.

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