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What is it about this place—about him—that makes me want to let my carefully constructed walls crumble? God, the very idea of getting tangled up with the man should have me running for the hills. He's brash, arrogant, and seems to take immense pleasure in getting under my skin at every turn.
But there are glimpses of something deeper there, too. A steadiness, a connection to this land and everything it represents. An authenticity that has been so glaringly absent from my own life for longer than I care to admit.
By the time we reach the flower shop once more, I'm no closer to figuring out what I’m going to do. Stylz holds the door for me, that infuriatingly charming half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
The bell above the door jingles as we step inside, announcing our arrival. The older woman emerges from the back room, beaming at the sight of us.
"Well, there you two are!" she exclaims, gesturing to a large, breathtaking arrangement of wildflowers and lush greenery. "Aren't these just lovely?"
"They're gorgeous," I murmur, reaching out to trail my fingertips over the soft petals. "Daisy's going to love them."
"I certainly hope so," the woman agrees with a warm smile. "You know, you two make such a lovely couple yourselves. The way he looks at you..." She shakes her head dreamily. "Why, it reminds me of how my Frank used to gaze at me back when we were just starry-eyed kids."
I open my mouth, fully prepared to correct her mistaken assumption. But the words seem to catch in my throat as I glance over at Stylz and find that same heated intensity in his stare, that undeniable spark of... something.
He holds my gaze for a beat too long before turning to the shopkeeper with an easy grin. "My girl certainly keeps me on my toes, that's for sure."
The words are clearly meant in jest, a playful deflection to avoid an awkward situation. But something about how he says it—the casual intimacy, the underlying affection—makes my breath hitch despite myself.
The older woman laughs, utterly charmed. "Well, you two just take good care of each other, you hear?”
Her words seem to take on a weighted significance as Stylz's gaze finds mine once more. Those green eyes hold mine for a heavy moment.
I should look away, deflect with a casual remark or teasing quip of my own, put an end to whatever this is before it goes any further.
But those steadfast green eyes hold me transfixed, sparking with the promise of new adventures and experiences beyond anything my carefully regimented life has offered so far.
And suddenly, I'm not quite ready to let that possibility go.
Chapter 4
Delilah
The rehearsal dinner at the Silverpine Lodge is in full swing, and I can't tear my eyes away from Stylz. He's seated a few chairs down, engaged in conversation with Wyatt, but I track every movement and gesture. The way his large hands wrap around the condensation-beaded glass. The deep rumble of his laughter. The way those long fingers toy with the knot of his tie in an unconscious, effortlessly sexy motion.
He looks good in a suit—like, really good. Not stuffy the way my corporate colleagues do, but with this untamed edge that has me itching to run my hands through his tousled hair and tug him closer by that loosened tie.
"You're staring." Daisy's playful murmur beside me snaps me out of my daze. I blink, my cheeks flushing as I turn to find her grinning at me with a knowing look.
"I am not," I scoff, even as my eyes betray me by darting back toward Stylz.
Daisy laughs. "Oh my god, you so are! You're practically eye-fucking the man from across the room."
"I am doing no such thing," I hiss, casting a furtive glance around to make sure no one overheard her crass observation. "We're just friends."
She snorts indelicately. "Please! The amount of sexual tension between you two is enough to set this whole lodge ablaze."
I open my mouth to protest again, but she cuts me off with a dismissive wave. "Save it, Lala. You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can't lie to me. I've never seen you look at someone like that before."
There's no judgment in her tone, only warmth and a hint of amusement. Daisy has always been the more carefree of the two of us, free-spirited and unafraid to embrace her desires. I'm envious of that, if I'm being honest with myself. My carefully cultivated life has always been dictated by checklists and five-year plans, leaving little room for spontaneity or whimsy.
And that's precisely what Stylz represents—pure, unrestrained desire and the thrill of the unknown. Part of me longs to simply let go, but the ever-present voice of reason holds me back, whispering warnings about temporary flings and permanent regrets.
I'm at war with myself, caught between opposing desires, trying to decide what to say to Daisy, when suddenly, the lights go dim, and a projector screen flickers to life.
I blink in the sudden darkness as the first slide pops up—a candid shot of Wyatt and Daisy mid-kiss, her arms flung around his neck, his hands cradling her face with unmistakable tenderness.
A chorus of good-natured "awws" ripples through the crowd, and I can't help the grin that spreads across my face as I glance sidelong at my little sister. She's beaming, cheeks flushed with happiness and—if I'm not mistaken—a touch of giddy disbelief, like she still can't quite wrap her head around the fact that she's marrying the man of her dreams.
