The Intern (The Dalton Family #4)(75)

I glanced at the chef, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. “Incredible. I’m in awe of you.”

She grinned. “I’m so glad you like it.”

Declan was smiling when my stare returned to him.

Since I’d taken another bite, I covered my mouth with my hand and said, “What?”

“Not everyone shows happiness as beautifully as you do.”

I swallowed, wiping the corners of my lips. “I’ve always worn my emotions on my sleeve.”

“It’s not just that, Hannah. It’s like I can feel your happiness. It’s in your eyes. Your cheeks. Your lips.” He lowered his voice, growling, “Those fucking lips.”

“Later,” I promised, knowing exactly what this was going to lead to and how tonight was going to end. “Tell me something.” I slid my fork around my plate, capturing the juices of the different flavors. “What is one thing that makes you the happiest?”

He stared down at his dessert, like he was contemplating. “How about a few things?”

“The more, the better.”

“A well-aged, say thirty years or so, single malt scotch makes me extremely happy. I like watching it swirl around the glass before feeling it slide over my tongue. The slight burn when it goes down my throat. I also really enjoy experiencing something for the first time—whether that be seeing a gorgeous landscape or going on a unique adventure or even developing a new friendship. I like the idea that I’ve never done it before, whatever it happens to be.”

“Sounds like you need a future trip to Yellowstone, then.”

“Yes.” He took a bite. “But I also like to read, as you’ve seen since you’ve been in my home library, and I like to run and work out. There’s also nothing wrong with a memorable meal, like this one.”

“What about sports?” I refreshed my mouth with some prosecco, the water almost too pretty to drink. “What’s your favorite team?”

“Lakers. All the way.”

“So, basketball over …”

“Baseball.” He licked his lips. “Hockey over football.”

“Really? Now, that shocks me.”

“Don’t get me wrong; you won’t find me passing a football game if it’s on TV. I just prefer the ice.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you like sports?”

“Camden played lacrosse in high school, and I swam. So, those sports I love.” I winced. “But I’m kind of a big Dodgers fan.”

His head tilted to the side. “Tell me more.”

“I love going to the games and eating oniony hot dogs with extra ketchup and beer. I love baseball beer. It’s nothing like other beer. It just tastes different when you’re there.”

“All right, I can hang with that. Maybe hold the onions.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Can’t. Onions on stadium dogs are a requirement. Just like I can’t leave without getting cotton candy.”

“So, as long as it comes in the form of sugar, you’re into it?”

“No.” I took another bite, licking the glaze off the back of the fork. “The way you feel about onions, I feel about raisins.” I scrunched my nose. “I despise them. So, desserts like bread pudding are a huge no for me.”

“Fair enough.”

I got quiet as I weighed the importance of my next question. “What’s your biggest fear?”

“Losing.”

He hadn’t even taken a second to think, his response so ready on his tongue.

“Losing what?” I asked. “A case?”

He set down his fork. “Anything—a person, possession, and, yes, a case. I don’t want to ever feel loss.”

I focused on his gaze, trying to read it. “Where does that come from?”

He laughed, but I could tell he didn’t find this funny. That was how Declan handled uncomfortable moments. “It took until late high school for me to grow into my body. I was a super-smart kid, but I was awkward, and I didn’t excel in athletics until my junior year, so I didn’t have that in my arsenal either.” He paused. “Kids weren’t nice.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d envisioned Declan as this hot and cocky teenager who could get any cheerleader he wanted.

“I remember you telling me that you grew up with boys who didn’t want to listen to you,” he said. “To make them hear, you had to be better. I think you said something about fighting and clawing to outsmart them.” His stare turned deeper. “I used my own methods, but we’re not all that different, Hannah.”

“You beat them with your words.”

“My fists weren’t strong back then like they are now.” He rubbed across his knuckles, and then he did the same to the other hand. “I was fueled by rage. I still am. It’ll never go away. I’ll never allow them—or anyone—to beat me again.” The corner of his lip lifted. “Not even a cowboy at a bar in Jackson Hole who’s trying to steal my girl.”

It was all making sense.

His demeanor.

His reactions.

The way he fought and how it never felt like it was fair.

“I get it,” I whispered.

“I knew you would.”

Alex appeared at the side of our table, dragging our attention away from each other. “I’d ask how it was, but you both cleaned your plates, so I’ll take that as a good sign.”