Page 49 of Worth the Shot

He’s looking at me.

Mesmerized. Soft. Like he sees something worth staying for. Worth waiting for.

I swallow hard, set my phone aside, and head for the shower. I turn the water as hot as I can handle and stand under it until steam fills the room. It rushes over me, down my back, down my arms, like I’m trying to wash away a void I didn’t realize I was carrying. I don’t let myself think about how that void feels suspiciously like the shape of Brennan Hale’s arms around me. Nope. I just let the water run.

Chapter Nineteen

Delaney

It’s pretty obvious this isn’t a “just friends” thing anymore. Which feels like information I should be doing something with. Instead, I’m…not. No overthinking. No spiraling. No preemptive emotional shutdown. Suspicious.

I don’t know when it shifted, but somewhere along the way I stopped trying to outrun it. Maybe Brennan has something to do with that. Or maybe I’m just being wildly overconfident about my ability to survive this.

Time will tell.

Tonight, Miles is hosting one of his dinner parties, something he does every few months, probably because even a guy like him gets lonely in that big, old house of his. Either way, he always goes all out, and I can’t lie, I’m a little excited to see what tonight’s theme is.

Brennan offered to pick me up, and considering I haven’t seen him since Christmas a few days ago, I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous.

I dig through my closet, eventually landing on a pair of jeans and a cream-colored sweater. Miles said semi-casual, so I’m guessing this will do. I throw it on, then pause in front of the mirror, giving my hair a little more attention than usual—fixing a piece here, separating a curl there, making sure my mascara isn’t clumped or uneven.

It’s subtle, but it’s more than I’d normally do. I run a hand through my curls one last time and check the time, just as a knock sounds at my door.

“Come in!” I call, and a second later the door opens. I round the corner and there he is, standing in my doorway like he’s been there a hundred times before—even though he hasn’t.

There’s a small paper bag in his hand, and I recognize it immediately. “Is that what I think it is?”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, but instead of answering right away, he steps toward me and for half a second, I think he might hesitate. Like he’s not sure which version of us we are right now.

Then his arms wrap around me.

Not tentative. Not rushed. Just…there. And this time, I don’t overthink it. I don’t freeze or second guess where my hands should go. I just step into him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, my arms sliding around his middle as I press my cheek lightly against his chest. It’s not as unsure as the first time. Not as carefully tested as the last. But it still lingers a second longer than it probably should.

When we finally separate, I repeat myself, softer this time, nodding toward the bag in his hand like I need something to ground me before I say anything else I might regret.

“So…is that what I think it is?”

“I was, uh…going to bring you flowers, but I settled on the muffin instead. I remember you said you can be a picky eater and I wanted to make sure you had something you’d actually like in case you got hungry.” He runs a hand through his hair. “My mom always says you shouldn’t show up to a woman’s house without flowers, but I wasn’t sure what kind you liked and⁠—”

“Brennan,” I cut him off, stepping closer as I take the bag from his hand. “The muffin is way better than any flowers you could have brought me. Thank you.” I peek inside, the smell of fresh-baked sugar and butter hitting me instantly.

“You look…beautiful,” he says, like he’s not entirely sure how I’ll take it.

And there it is. That quiet shift. The way a simple compliment suddenly feels like something I don’t know how to hold. Damn it, Delaney.

I glance back up at him, taking him in this time. He’s got on dark-wash jeans, a navy quarter zip, brown boots and his hair is that perfect kind of mess, like he didn’t try but still got it right. The scruff along his jaw is a little more noticeable than usual.

Swoon.

“We should probably get going,” I say. I clear my throat, forcing my brain to rejoin the rest of my body.

“Yeah.” He nods, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

I grab my keys off the counter, slipping past him as we head out into the hallway. The cool air outside hits my cheeks, and I’m not entirely sure if it helps or makes it worse. Probably worse. “So,” I say, locking the door behind me, “we could take my car instead.”

He glances over at me as we walk. “Yeah?”

I hesitate for half a second. “I mean…we could,” I shrug, “but I don’t have gas.”