Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(87)

You do deserve it. Maybe if she’d really understood that fact, she wouldn’t have hyperventilated at the unreserved tenderness in Zaf’s eyes that morning.

As Dani’s halting speech ended, everyone—even Chloe—left their various seats to join her on the carpet, slipping an arm around her shoulders or squeezing her hand. She was surrounded by her sisters and her best friend, and it felt like being wrapped up in a blanket as soft as clouds and strong as armor. This was love, and part of her had always known that if she shared her darkest thoughts with these women, she’d receive such love instantly. Maybe she’d held off because deep down, she hadn’t thought she deserved it.

Dani was starting to realize she’d treated the opinion of everyone who’d ever left her as an irrefutable truth: Danika Brown is not worthy of love. The trouble was, building a conclusion based on irrelevant or unreliable sources never worked. And when it came to Dani’s worthiness, the only source she should really value was herself.

“Well,” Sorcha said after a moment. “I had no idea about all that.”

“Nor,” Chloe murmured broodingly, “had I.” She paused. “Possibly because you never really tell us anything, darling.”

Dani sniffed and scowled under the weight of three patient stares. “Yes, I do,” she lied.

“No, you don’t,” Eve said. “I used to just read your diary, but then I got too old to avoid feeling guilty about it.”

Dani stared. “Remind me to smack you for that at a later date.”

“Why would I possibly remind you to smack—”

“Girls,” Chloe interrupted. “Let’s focus on the issue at hand, shall we?”

The issue, Dani assumed, being her sudden verbosity in the case of emotional sharing. She supposed her siblings’ and even Sorcha’s stares of astonishment were warranted; she certainly couldn’t remember ever word-vomiting all her pointless problems at anyone before. Except these days, they didn’t seem so pointless, and she had a feeling that Zaf—Zaf, who always listened; Zaf, who always cared; Zaf, who wanted everyone to know themselves—was partially responsible for that.

She’d hate him for it, only she was quite tragically in love with him, so hate was proving difficult.

“I remember that little shit Mateo,” Chloe went on. “Never liked him. I don’t trust southerners.”

Oh. Apparently, the issue at hand wasn’t Dani’s attitude change; it was everything she’d just admitted. She dried her eyes and murmured, “Mateo was Welsh.”

Chloe sniffed. “Wherever he was from, I don’t trust them.”

Sorcha laughed. Eve snorted. And Dani felt incredibly light, despite the lump of sadness blocking her throat and making it hard to breathe.

“You know,” Eve said thoughtfully, “you really ought to share with the class more often, Dan. Because now we know all of this, we can tell you helpful things, like: Mateo was a total scumbag. And: you should marry the Superman security guard. And: we love you.”

Dani managed a wobbly smile and forced out a mortifyingly honest response. “I love you, too.”

“Awwww!” Eve slapped a hand over her heart and pretended to faint. “You know what else I love? That this witch stuff actually works. You might have to teach me.”

Sorcha rolled her eyes. “It’s not about whether or not it works, Eve.”

But Dani was suddenly sure that it absolutely had.

Before she could examine that thought further, the front door opened with a creak and the jangle of keys. “All right,” Redford called from the hallway. “If the guy I’m supposed to kill is that big fucker from the video, we’ll need an airtight plan.”





CHAPTER NINETEEN




Texting Zaf after what had happened really didn’t seem like an option. The idea of talking to him over the phone, without being able to see his face—or, worse, calling and him not picking up—felt even more ill-advised. And turning up at his house after storming out just that morning wasn’t acceptable, either, not in Dani’s mind. She wanted to get this right. Not someone else’s idea of perfect, but right, for both of them.

To put it simply, they needed to talk. Shudder. After she’d apologized. Double shudder. So Dani spent Sunday evening trimming her hair and dyeing it red for confidence while on the phone with her grandmother, searching for sage advice.

“Men are difficult creatures,” Gigi said as Dani slapped scarlet gloop onto her head. “And it does sound as if you hurt his feelings, my dense little darling. Not that I blame you. You’re far too delicate to be expected to weather the drama of sudden romantic confessions.”

Dani did not consider herself remotely delicate, but she decided now wasn’t the time to argue the point. “I was hoping you’d have some sort of magic tip to help me win him over.” Because if the tables had been turned—if she’d been brave enough to admit she loved Zaf, and he’d thrown it back in her face—Dani knew very well she wouldn’t be particularly understanding. Not even if she knew all about his reasons.

Hurting a loved one was like running over someone’s foot; you rarely meant to do it, but the bones still broke.

“Tips?” Gigi mused. “Hmm. I rarely bother winning people back, darling, so I’m afraid I won’t be much use. Unless you want to hear about oral techniques—”