Page 34 of Beneath the Quiet

Flashes of the dream simmer on the edge of my brain, and I shake my head at how bold I was in it.

I was vocal. I sparred with Dream Aidan in a way I’ve never sparred with a man.

And I was brave. I wasn’t worried about my top belly or the softness of my flesh.

Of telling him what I wanted.

I wish I could be that way in the real world, but not once in the three years we were a couple did Colin make me feel bold enough to say what I wanted and needed from him.

He never asked, though. He didn’t take his time. He wasn’t patient. Not in the way I needed him to be.

I wonder if Aidan is different.

I slam the door shut on the thought before it gets the chance to take root. That is a road I can’t follow. If I do, I’ll never be able to meet his eyes directly without blushing. Dreaming about him this one time is bad enough even if it did give me the sexual release I’d been aching for.

No, it’s better if I forget that his number is saved in my phone and instead treat him like I would the other villagers.

Like an acquaintance instead of a friend.

Nothing more, and nothing less.

Unfortunately, what I want and what I get are two very different things.

When I step outside and turn my back to lock the door, the handle on my bag snaps, and it falls to the pebbled walkway with a loud thump. The clasp flips open, and the contents spill out.

“Feck it,” I mutter and bend down to pick them up. My newest late-night read is dangerously close to a puddle left from the rainfall last night, and I reach to save it.

A very large, veined hand with freckles scattered on it snatches it up before I do. My eyes snap up, then widen in horror at the sight of my fantasy come to life right in front of me.

“Aidan?” I squeak.

He tips his lips up. “Morning, Detective.”

He glances at the book in his hand and turns it around to face the front. It’s written by one of my favourite authors whose books I always turn to when I need cheering up.

“My Favorite Holidate? It looks…very Christmassy?”

I gulp. “It is. Um, I mean, it’s a Christmas romance.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “But it’s spring.”

“Your point being?”

He reads the back of the book, and his eyebrows knit. “Aren’t you supposed to only read these books around the holidays?”

“I don’t think so. I read them year-round.” I reach out my hand and grab onto the top, only he doesn’t let go. “May I have my book back, please?”

He waits a couple of beats, making me roll my eyes at our tug of war. Laughter dances around his eyes. My tummy flips as I keep his gaze locked with mine. Something inside me is unwilling to let him win, but then again, I don’t really need an excuse to stare at him. I could get lost in his eyes if I let myself.

Finally, he seems to take pity on me, and he releases the tight hold he has on the book. I look down at it and wipe a small smudge of murky water away.

“I hope it isn’t ruined,” I mutter.

“It probably just needs to be laid out to dry.”

I nod and grab the last few things still scattered around, trying to look everywhere but at him before I sit back on my haunches and push back up. He holds his arm out, ready to catch me if I fall, but I take great care not to touch even the tiniest inch of him without making it look like I’m avoiding contact.

I opt for a bright, cheerful, only-being-polite-because-I-have-to-be smile at his shoulder instead.