Page 87 of Maid For Each Other

“I’m just saying that your room is fantastic.”

“You know you’re welcome to it,” he said, but not in a creepy way. He was literally talking about trading rooms. “I’m happy to swap and let you have it.”

But it’s like the mention of the kiss, sprinkled around the idea of his bedroom, instantly charged the air. The space between us suddenly felt like it was crackling with electricity.

I looked at his mouth, thinking a million inappropriate things, before forcing my eyes up to his.

I cleared my throat and said, “Thanks, but I have a wicked case of the night stabs and you don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“I definitely do not,” he said, swallowing. “Night stabbings are overrated.”

There was something about the way he was standing over the bed, smiling down at me, that amped the intensity.

I cleared my throat again and said, “Right. I always say that.”

“You do?” he asked, his eyes all over me. “You always say that?”

“At least ten times a day,” I managed, wondering if it was possible to spontaneously combust from the heat of a gaze.

“Yeah, same,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides. “Well, good night, then.”

“Good night, then.”

I let out my breath when the door closed behind him, because I was having trouble breathing and it had nothing to do with my asthma.

I wanted him.

Holy, holy shit, I wanted him but not just for a good time in that wall-of-windows bedroom of his. No, I wanted him…around. Like, for an extended period of time, in my life and in my bed and on my phone when he was traveling.

I was head over heels insomethingwith Declan Powell, damn it.

So what the hell was I supposed to do about it?

28

Goodbyes

Declan

Everything was different in the morning.

Her flight was early, so we walked down to the coffee shop at the end of the block at 6 a.m. to have an espresso before she had to leave for the airport. We sat on the terrace, drinking coffee as she rambled incessantly—like she always did, like I loved—but something had changed.

There was an awareness between us of something more.

And I couldn’t gauge how she felt about it.

She was quick with the sarcasm and teasing, which was her way, but it felt like she was trying to avoid anything that could potentially become a serious conversation. Her gaze darted all over the place instead of just settling into normal eye contact.

Evasive.

I would’ve addressed it straight-out, because I didn’t enjoy games, but there was a slight chance thatshewas completelynormal and I was overthinking like a fucking teenager because I was way too into her, so I held off.

I had zero perspective when it came to us anymore.

So I was going to focus on the friendship. Until she brought it up, we were just pals with zero romantic interest. Because the longer I could keep her feeling relaxed by my side, the more time I had to show her she could trust me.

That what we had was genuine.

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