Page 45 of Reckless Promises

Birdie happily follows them, anxious to get outside any chance she can, especially since we got another dusting of snow last night.

“Did you make that?” Cillian eyes my food.

“I did. Raspberry pancakes fresh off the stove. Want to try?” I wave the pancake out, expecting he might still be traumatized from my failed meatloaf attempt. “Fair warning. They sound better than they taste.”

If there’s one thing I’ve learned since Peyton started teaching me how to cook, it’s that I’m terrible at it. But I’m determined, and I’ve never backed down from a challenge before, so I’m not about to start.

Besides, something about watching Cillian suffer through every bland and burned attempt is worth it.

“I’m sure it can’t be that bad.” He takes the fork from my hand and shoves the bite in his mouth. His lips glide along the fork that was just in my mouth as he pulls it out. And there’s something inexplicably sexy about that.

Cillian chews, and I can tell the moment he bites into the first sour raspberry, even if he tries to hide it.

“Delicious.” He swallows, setting my fork down.

“You’re such a liar.” I snatch my fork up and roll my eyes.

And even if he doesn’t argue, his smirk is proof he agrees with me.

Cillian’s phone chimes as I take another bite, and he reaches into his pocket to get it. Shifting forward, his knee knocks mine, and I hate that every little graze or tap sets me on edge.

“Everything all right?” I take another bite, watching him frown at his screen.

He types back to whoever reached out to him, and I wonder how many details of my husband’s business I’ll never know anything about.

“Fine.” He doesn’t look up at me as he types something else. “Your father just asked to set a meeting.”

“With you?”

Cillian nods, setting his phone down and leaning back to look at me. His gaze moves to the fork in my hand, and I realize it’s hovering in front of my mouth, so I lower it to my plate.

“Why would he want to do that?”

My father has been avoiding Cillian since he took over his father’s estate. And even if he showed up at the wedding, it was only because it was a publicsetting, so he likely assumed Cillian wouldn’t do anything that out in the open.

But to request a meeting between the two of them is a bold move.

“He says he wants to build a bridge.”

“And you believe him?”

“No.” Cillian taps his thumb on the table. “He’s trying to get to you.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands on its ends. My father is a terrifying man, and I didn’t realize how relieved I was to escape him until I climbed into Cillian’s car after the auction and was officially free of his chains.

“What makes you think that?”

“He asked for you to be at the meeting so he could see how you’re doing.”

There’s no way my father cares about how I’m doing, which means Cillian is right.

Cillian reaches a hand out, resting it over mine. “I told him no.”

“Thank you.” I’m sure he feels how clammy my hands are at the thought of having to face my father, and it’s pathetic.

I survived him for twenty-one years, but something about the distance these past few weeks has made going back even harder to imagine.

Cillian nods, watching me so intently his eyes might turn me to stone. “You should know that for a moment, I considered it.”

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