Page 20 of Missile Strike

She started to come up with another excuse to leave and stopped. It wasn’t as if she could avoid him forever. Like it or not, she had to work with Danny to make sure her father’s re-election gala went off without a hitch.

Also, she had a weakness for Le Delice’s almond croissants.

“I can give you an hour.” She could give him all day, but an hour in Danny’s presence was enough. She’d need the rest of the day to recover.

His hand was already cupping her elbow as he guided her to the escalator, his fingers branding her with a heat that detonated through her with a shudder.

Good Lord—he was barely touching her. She moved her arm so he had to let go.

Talia was right. She needed to date more.

The problem was that the nice, staid bankers and accountants Talia tried to set her up with were…boring.

Which made no sense because stability was good. Vanilla was good. It was what she wanted.

She side-eyed Danny.

Definitely not vanilla.

Jaynie used to roll her eyes and joke that her brother didn’t know how to stay still unless he was asleep. If he wasn’t playing sports, he was down at the beach catching waves or learning a new skill like scuba diving or practicing 180s on his skateboard. Once, Jaynie had admitted she envied how fully Danny embraced life because her illness had never allowed her to do the same.

Isabella shook off the memory as she and Danny stepped out into August heat that enveloped them like a damp blanket. Canopies of green leaves from ginkgo and lacebark elms shaded the sidewalks and filtered the Carolina sun. Modern multistory buildings of tinted glass and stone in shades of cream, dappled gray, and sunset rose lined the streets as the steady hum of passing cars and delivery vans filled the air.

When Danny opened the door to Le Delice Patisserie, cool air rushed out to greet them. Isabella breathed a sigh of relief. Inside, crystal chandeliers and aerial sculptures hung beneath the two-story industrial ceiling, and reproductions of famous French paintings in gilded frames decorated the walls.

They threaded their way past an eclectic mix of tables and chairs of various shapes and colors to the long glass case that held an enticing and colorful mix of pastries and baked goods. Warm butter and sugar scented the air, along with the rich, aromatic smell of freshly ground espresso.

After ordering at the counter, they waited for the barista to prepare their coffee, then settled at a table next to the glass wall overlooking the outdoor seating area. The hour was late enough that most of the uptown office workers who crowded the bakery in the morning were gone, and the lunch crowd had yet to arrive.

She picked at her croissant, her stomach too full of butterflies to accept food, and let the soft croon of the woman singing in French in the background soothe her.

“I’m sorry.” Danny’s voice was low and full of the past.

“We don’t need to get into this. It was a long time ago.” Even though it felt like yesterday, now that he was here in front of her. “It was no big deal.”

His hand slid across the table. Captured hers. The feel of his warm skin made the butterflies swarm. “Bella. Look at me.”

Why, when it was safer to stare at her uneaten pastry?

His fingers tightened.

She sucked in her lips and lifted her gaze.

His expression was warm. Steady. “It was a big deal.”

“You can stop feeling guilty you slept with your sister’s friend.”

Whoops. She’d been going for nonchalance. The stiffness in her tone said otherwise.

Danny’s lips firmed. He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts.

Her pulse ricocheted in her ears. Waiting.

For what? A declaration that he’d thought about her all these years, like she had of him? Or would he pour salt in a wound that, for her, had never completely healed?

She’d given him her virginity in a shared moment of grief and passion.

“I feel guilty because you were seventeen and grieving my sister’s loss as much as I was, and I took advantage of you.”