Page 89 of Parentmoon

“He isn’t,” I quietly defend.

“You need better glasses, my new friend.” Laria tips her chin at my sunglasses and smiles.

For just a moment, I imagine it, though. My hand falls over my tummy, trying to settle the butterflies taking flight within me. The way Dallas looks at me. The way he reads my moods. The way he knows my body. What would it be like to have someone like him greeting me with those kisses every morning and rocking my world every night before sleep? He’s been everything I said I’d want in a man and more.

Could I be enough for him?

I turn back to Laria. Maybe she’s imagining things as well, projecting on me her hopes. She’s hurting and I’m compassionate to her position. Peering back at Dallas, I know what I want from a man and Dallas is the full package. But would he consider me a gift as well?

Dallas continues focusing on us from the balcony. Slowly, he smiles, giving me that smirk, like he knows we are talking about him. Then he taps at his wrist, where he isn’t wearing a watch. Instead, his silver beaded bracelet glistens in the sunlight.

“I’ve got to go,” I whisper, while observing him.

“Keep in touch?” Laria’s plea brings me back to her.

“Of course.” We hug. “And thank you for the flowers.”

“It’s what I do, being the missus and all.” She mocks her husband, walking backwards away from me. “Many blessings to Michael and Keli. And you and Dallas.”

As she turns away, I watch her retreat a second, attempting to clear my head.

Dallas Cole could not love me. We’re only a vacation thing. Wrapped up in wedding fever after a brief bout of engagement-cancelation grief. While I hope for more with Dallas, I’m not hopeful enough that he’d want the same thing from me.

This isn’t about us. It’s about Michael and Keli.

With that thought, I continue to the condo where Dallas remains on the balcony watching me until I reach the staircase on the side of the building. Then I disappear from his view, but before I reach the top step, the door opens.

As I finish climbing the stairs, Dallas stares at me, biting his lower lip and fighting a crooked grin. He hums as I near him. “All attitude”

Glancing down at myself, I tug at the skirt of my dress. “I wore this dress earlier in the week.”

“You could wear it a hundred times, and I’d want to peel it off of you a hundred more.”

I shake my head with a giggle in my throat.

Closing the distance between us, he cups both my elbows and pulls me closer. “Mornin’ darlin’.” He pauses, meeting my eyes. “You look beautiful.” His gaze drops to my lipstick which I haven’t worn often during this trip. “Damn, I want to fuck up that mouth of yours.” Instead, he gives me a too-brief kiss at the corner of my lips, leaving me wanting more.

“You look stunning yourself, Mr. Dallas,” I drawl as best I can. Dallas chuckles. “So where is the emergency?”

He steps back, allowing me to fully enter the condo. “She’s in the second room. Photographer is here.”

A man stands in the living space, and I wave at him.

“Keli says I should meet her on the balcony.”

“Sounds lovely.” The setting will be perfect for a father’s first look at his beautiful daughter as a bride. “But first, you’re missing your boutonniere.”

“I was in the shower when Laria arrived.” The flower rests on a chilled plate on a side table. “She said she couldn’t find a box.”

The small tropical flower is bright pink with simple greenery behind it. Picking it up, I take the liberty to pin it on his vest.

“Did you know the boutonniere is a tradition that started with knights and their admirers?” I explain, staring at the flower as I speak.

“Like knights that slay lizards, scare iguanas and scale castle walls?”

“Probably those, yes.” I smile. “A lady showed her interest in a knight by giving him a token of her affection, and he placed it over his heart as he rode off into battle or competed in tournaments. It symbolizes, I admire you.”

“You showing your affection for me, darlin’?” Dallas tips his head down, looking where I’ve pinned the flower for him, and we both notice it matches the color of my dress.