Page 41 of The Enemy Plot

“You know,” Deacon says, hooking the bait back onto my line. “If you wanted to hook me, you could have just asked.”

I freeze, trying to process his words, and make sure that wasn’t just a figment of my imagination, but Lola’s bursts of giggles tell me it was very much real.

I cock my head to the side, my heart thundering in my chest. “Did you just make a joke?”

His mouth twists, but I can tell he’s containing his smile.

“Oh my goodness,” I exclaim, a smile twitching at my lips. “You did. You’refunny! Who knew, all this time, that you were just a funny guy?”

He wears an annoyed scowl, but by now, I know it’s all fake. “I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” I poke his chest with my finger. “He is,” I say to Lola, who’s just laughing and nodding.

He casts me a playful glare.

“You can pretend to be grumpy anytime you want, Deacon Collier,” I say, taking a step toward him. “But I see you.”

He’s close now, and for a second, I think we’re about to kiss. His eyes darken to a near black, and I can feel the air warming around us. It’d be easy—just a little nudge forward from either of us would do the trick. But just when I’m about to make a move, he clears his throat and turns around.

I hustle back to my seat at the other end of the boat. My cheeks are now definitely on fire, and I contemplate jumping into the water to cool myself down. But the lake is kind of cold, not to mention I’d smell like fish afterward.

Of course he wasn’t about to kiss me. I just read way too many romance novels and create these dreamy scenarios in my head out of nothing. A laugh and an intense look? That doesn’t mean anything in real life. Deacon hasn’t shown any genuine interest in me beyond friendship. Even if it’s starting to feel like he could be book-boyfriend material, I know that this is not happening.

The only problem is, now that the real Deacon has been revealed to me, it’s impossible to see anything else. Behind every scowl, sigh, or stern look, I see a man in pain. A man who’s eaten alive by guilt, and underneath that, a kind and caring person. That reality makes it a bit harder to keep my feelings in check.

I washed the grime of the day away in the shower—I won the race this time. But every inch of my skin still burns every time I think of Deacon.

We’re now done eating dinner—pizza delivery, not fish—and Lola has just gone up to bed, leaving Deacon and me alone on the couch where we just finished playing Monopoly.

“She seems to be having a good time so far,” Deacon says, glancing at the stairs.

“I think so. It’s been a fun trip. Even I have to admit that.”

A smile touches his lips, and I look away before I blush.

“What am I doing wrong, though? Sure, she’s having fun, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I know I’ll never replace my sister, but she seems closer to you than she is to me.”

My heart breaks for him. “Teenagers work in mysterious ways.” I sigh. “It’s a delicate situation, and a teenage girl will always bond more easily with a woman, but you’ll get there. I think she just needs time to adjust.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Any tips? I feel like every time I try something, I make things worse.”

“There’s no handbook for this kind of thing, but don’t force it too much. Your relationship with her will come naturally. Just show her that you love having her in your life and that it’s not just an obligation,” I say, remembering what Lola said at her birthday about Deacon being stuck with her.

“It’snotan obligation,” he retorts quickly. “Yeah, it’s a difficult transition, but I love her.”

“I know,” I say, sliding my hand over his. “Just take your time.”

We fall into each other’s eyes, and this time, I swear it’s not my imagination. His gaze drops to my lips, and if books and movies have taught me anything, it’s that the “gaze dropping to lips” thing is a solid indication that a kiss is imminent.

But then, he looks into my eyes again, and something shifts. Fear and doubt fill his gaze, and he backs away, leaving my poor heart rattling in my chest.

“Um.” He clears his throat. “I guess we should call it a night.”

I hop to my feet. “Sure. Yes, let’s go to bed.” My cheeks instantly warm, and a smile twitches at Deacon’s lips. “Separately, obviously.”

He swallows and glances at my lips again. “Right. Good night, Frenchie.”

I really thought this would be it. Why does he keep pulling back? And why didn’t I make the first move? This is the twenty-first century, after all. Women should chase after what they want. And I want this. Maybe it’s time I do something about it. There will be no more almost-kisses. Even if I love this micro trope, it’s way too frustrating in real life. Next time, I will go for it.

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