Page 8 of Piercing Eyes

“We definitely need to say hi to the sea lions,” I say. “And I wouldn’t say no to a carousel ride.” I pause. “But you forgot one of the best parts of Pier 39.”

“What’s that?”

“The mini donuts.”

His eyes go wide. “Oh shit, you’re right.” He grabs my arm. “We need those first. Like, right now.”

The scent of cinnamon and sugar leads us straight to the donut stand. We watch, mesmerized, as perfect little rings of dough drop into the oil, emerge golden brown, and get tossed in cinnamon sugar. When we get our paper bag of still-warm donuts, they’re almost too hot to hold.

“These are ridiculous,” Aiden says through a mouthful of donut. A bit of sugar dusts his lip. Ugh, thoselips. How can a man have such perfect lips?

We wander past shop windows, sharing donuts and pointing out the most outrageous tourist items we can find. A tie-dyed sweatshirt with a pot-smoking peace sign. A mug shaped like a cable car. Salt and pepper shakers that look like tiny fog horns.

We also pass racks of t-shirts and hoodies, most of them plastered with cheesy San Francisco logos. But one actually catches my eye—a dark blue hoodie with a subtle design of the Golden Gate Bridge embroidered in copper thread.

“Ooh. I want to try this on,” I say, pulling it off the rack.

The fabric is incredibly soft. I slip it over my head and check my reflection in the mirror. “What do you think? Is it worth—” I check the price tag and suck in a breath, showing it to Aiden.

His eyebrows shoot up, but then he tilts his head, studying me. “You do look really cute in it.”

Really cute.Did he really just say that? The words echo in my head as heat rises to my cheeks.

“Um—thanks. I’ll think about it.”

I grab the hem of the hoodie to pull it off, but as I lift it over my head, my shirt starts coming with it. The fabric keeps rising, exposing more of my stomach, and I feel a flash of panic—butthen Aiden’s hands are there, holding my shirt in place while I wrestle the hoodie off.

When I emerge, my hair is probably a mess and my cheeks are definitely pink, but at least I’m not half-naked in the middle of a tourist shop.

“Thanks,” I breathe.

He’s standing so close. I can feel the warmth radiating off him, see the flecks of darker blue in his gorgeous eyes?—

“Can I help you find anything?”

We quickly pull apart at the sales associate’s voice.

“No, thanks,” I say quickly. “We’re fine.”

We spend the rest of the afternoon exploring everything Pier 39 has to offer. We visit the sea lions, laughing as we watch them lounge on their wooden platforms, barking and shoving each other around. On the carousel, we each choose a brightly colored horse, and I hold tight to the brass pole as the ride spins, feeling like a kid again as the world whirls past in a kaleidoscope of color and music. After that, we split an order of fish and chips, the paper-wrapped bundle warm and crinkly in my hands as we sit by the water listening to a street musician play Spanish guitar.

By the time Aiden pulls out his phone to call our car, I’m full of good food and wrapped in a contentment I haven’t felt in months. I tell myself it’s just the magic of playing tourist for an afternoon—the salt air, the music, the feeling of doing something completely unplanned. But I know it’s also because of him. The afternoon felt so natural, so easy, like we were just two friends spending time together.

But as we’re driving away from the pier, my phone rings. It’s Aiden’s publisher from New York, and just like that, I’m back in assistant mode.

Back to the way things are supposed to be.

5

AIDEN

“I’m assuming you’d like to RSVP yes to the fundraiser, right?” Rory asks without looking up from her phone. She came by this morning to review upcoming events, and I’d be lying if I said these work sessions weren’t the highlight of my days. Even when we’re just going through schedules and contracts, having her here in my space makes everything feel…well, so much fucking better.

“Yeah,” I say. “Definitely RSVP yes.”

The fundraiser isn’t just another event. Making sure kids can access baseball programs, getting them proper equipment, offering scholarships—it’s about opening doors that would otherwise stay closed. I grew up watching other kids show up to practice with brand new gloves while I played with my cousin’s old hand-me-downs. Now I get to help make sure other kids don’t face those same barriers.

Rory nods, typing. “And should I mark you down for a plus one?”

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