Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(27)

But these snippets of conversation happened between soul-shaking kisses that stole her breath and her heart, making her long for things that nice girls weren’t supposed to want without a wedding ring. She often found herself reconsidering Erik’s words from the night of their first kiss: If two people care about each other, it’s up to them to make up their own rules. More and more, Laire wondered if the all-consuming, first-thing-in-the-morning, final-thing-before-sleeping feelings she had for Erik Rexford were, indeed, love. How else could she explain the waves of aching longing she felt whenever she was away from him, and the sharp, sweet relief when he finally held her in his arms? If they did fall in love, what rules would she and Erik make for themselves? And would she be able to reconcile those choices against the person she’d been raised to be? Because she wanted more from him. Oh, God, every day, she wanted more.

On Friday night, Erik sat at the bar with a single red rose before him, and as he met her outside after her shift, he presented it to her with a grin.

Never having received a flower from a beau before, Laire raised it to her nose and inhaled deeply as he walked them over to their favorite chairs and pulled her onto his lap with a happy sigh.

“What’s this for?” she asked, looking up into his dark eyes with a shy grin.

He dropped his lips to hers in a sweet kiss. “It’s our one-week anniversary. We met a week ago today.”

She giggled, nodding her head. “I guess we did.”

“You had crabs, remember?”

“Oh, Lord,” she groaned. “You ever gonna let me live that down?”

“Unlikely,” he said, nuzzling her nose with his. “Though I am curious how you knew about that kind of crabs.”

“Ha,” she said. “Can’t live in a town that catches blues and not hear jokes about crabs from the cradle.”

He chuckled, brushing his lips against hers. “Makes sense, I guess.” He leaned his head on the back of the chair and looked at her. “So! I have somethin’ to ask you.”

“What?”

“Well, this is nice, you know? Meetin’ you after work every night . . .”

“Mm-hm,” she murmured, shifting in his lap to press her chest against his and thread her fingers through his hair. “It is.”

His lips were so close to her ear, they brushed her skin with every word. “But it’s not enough, Freckles. Not for me. I know you work most nights, but I was wonderin’ how you’d feel about spendin’ the day with me sometime.”

She froze. “The day?”

“Yeah. The whole day, until you have to be here for work. You and me. Kissin’ and sunnin’ and swimmin’ and . . . whatever else we felt like doin’.”

“Hmm,” she said, pursing her lips and looking down.

This was a problem, of course, that she was scared to fix, and dying to fix at the same time. Being with Erik for only a few stolen minutes every night before she made the trek home wasn’t enough for her either, but the structure of their relationship—meeting in the shadows of Buxton, where no one knew her—had given her a false sense of security. They learned a little more about each other, they held hands, they flirted, they kissed, they fell harder and harder every night . . . all without having to mesh their worlds.

But going out on a date during the day could be risky. Where would they go? Who might see them? How in the world would she explain what she was doing with Erik Rexford if she was caught? And what if her father or sisters somehow found out?

He slipped his fingers under her chin and tipped her head up so he could look into her eyes.

“Laire, I just want more time with you.”

“I know.” Me too.

“Well, let’s make it happen. What days are you free?”

Most any day worked, honestly. She was free every day from nine until three, occasionally helping her sister with wedding plans or working for a few hours at King Triton. Carving out the time to meet Erik wouldn’t be a problem. Where and how she met him were much more worrisome matters.

“I have to help my sister a little this week,” she said, evading the question.

“Kyrstin, right? The one gettin’ married?”

She nodded. “In a week.”

“Well, is there a day that’s better than the rest? Whatever it is, I’ll make it work. I’ll come pick you up at your house, say hello to your father and sisters so they know you’re in good hands, and then we’ll go spend the day together.”

Her blood went cold and her breath caught. Her father and sisters? Out of the question. They would forbid her to see him again, and she’d be forced to quit her job immediately. Pick her up? No. Absolutely not. He could not pick her up in his fancy antique all-wood speedboat. Even if her father was working and her sisters weren’t around, someone would see them. Questions would be asked. Rumors would be started.

“No.”

She slid her fingers from his hair and leaned away from him, picking up the rose on the arm of the chair.

“No?” His voice was gentle but confused. “What do you mean? I thought—”

“No. You can’t come to Corey,” she said, leaning away a little more, concentrating on the delicate red petals and ignoring the sting of the thorns.

“Of course I can.”