Page 93 of Pretender

“Please don’t do that with me,” I say. “You can nudge me back.”

“Solid real talk, Linnea.”

“There you go, making jokes.”

“Sorry.”

“Do you remember in Florence, right before I got sick, I was about to ask you about what Mark said. That you’d given up on finding someone?”

“I remember.”

“Are you ready to tell me about it so I can understand better?”

He puts his hands in his pockets.

“I see what it looks like from the outside, hell, it seems even Mum thinks what you were saying before…” He groans, tilting his face to the sky. “I’m not a player. I don’t date just to fuck or have shallow fun with someone. At least I didn’t mean to. I’ve always wanted a real connection. Like my mum and dad—” Aiden clears his throat, dropping his gaze to the ground again. His dad. Is he going to say more? “Maybe I got a bit lost. I misplaced my faith in love for a while.”

“For a while?”

Aiden steps up to me. He’s so close, my skin tingles.

What is he doing?

His hand comes up, brushing a hair off my forehead, tracing the side of my face until he’s cupping my jaw. I struggle to breathe as Aiden’s face is right there. His eyes are intense, his gaze dipping to my mouth, and my heart beats so fast and so hard, I might fall over.

I inhale sharply, more like a rasp, and Aiden shifts on his feet, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I close my eyes, leaning into it.

His full, gentle lips on my skin are like a message. One I’m not clear on. Does he feel what I do?

Blurry lines. Hardly any lines at all, really.

The sensation of his kiss is soothing. My breathing steadies, my heart calms, and I find the strength in my arms to move them up and around his torso, pressing him close to me.

He turns his head, hugging me to his cheek, but his breath is still on my skin and I keep my eyes closed, just enjoying his warm body against mine.

After a blissful minute, he pulls back, and I reluctantly release my grip.

“Let’s keep walking,” he says, brushing his hands down my sides, and before I can overthink it I grab his hand in mine and thread my fingers through his. He gives me a close-lipped smile and we continue our stroll through St James’s Park.

“Say,” I start. “I bet you’ve never had a banh mi from Borough Market.”

“A who from where?”

“Alright, let’s go.”

I speed up, and then it happens.

My wedge heel hits a large pebble at the wrong angle, and I stumble straight into Aiden, who staggers but keeps me upright by the hand, and with the other arm around my waist, he finds his footing before we topple over.

“Bloody pebble fucker,” I mutter, moving my foot.

Shit. So much for our walk today.

“That mouth of yours,” Aiden says, and when I glance up at him, he laughs. “Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s broken,” I whine, and Aiden’s eyes go wide. “My shoe. My favourite wedge sandal.”