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“So stilettos are off the table?”

“They were never on it to begin with. Your balance is . . . questionable, and you hate being taller than me when you wear them.”

With a smirk, he turned sideways and slipped by her into the closet. He rummaged for a moment before pulling out a simple floral sundress.

“My balance is excellent, thank you.” Her attempt at sounding quippy came out softer than she’d intended, breathless by way of proximity.

Aster’s smile quirked as he hummed a patronizing noise of faux agreement. The fine line between fighting and what felt dangerously like flirting was being burned away before her eyes.

As Aster slipped back by her, he stepped closer into her personal space, smirk so near she could taste it if she wanted to. His gaze passed over her, heavy in its path from her eyes to her lips. He paused for a number of breaths Molly didn’t have the wherewithal to count. Thoughts blurring, focus muddled, Molly couldn’t seem to think through the physicality of his presence. Right there.

And then gone in the next moment as he exited the room. He left behind the scent of spice and citrus swirling in patterns of almost-memory against her skin.

He kept doing that, pushing some, enough that she noticed it happening, but so quick she sometimes wondered if she’d imagined it altogether. The way he’d lean over her to deliver her morning coffee, brushing against her shoulders. Or the unravelling bits of her braid he’d volunteer to tame, twirling it around his fingers for a breathless series of seconds. And she’d given him permission to push, in a way, every time she pulled in response. It wasn’t often, and she didn’t feel especially skilled at it, but there were moments when she’d sit a little closer to him than necessary, when she’d let herself study him knowing full well he noticed her gaze, when she’d say something nice, out of nowhere, and just because she could. It had become a sort of dance.

Molly shut the bedroom door behind him and pulled on the sundress. Drenched in daisies, the dress was fitted at the bust and flared at the hip. It was feminine and summery and made her feel a bit sparkling, like an effervescent drink on a hot day.

She joined Aster in the living room where he stood near the door, idly scrolling through his phone while he waited. She watched his attention snap to her as she entered the room, arresting her with his focus. It was difficult not to flush under his observation, so painfully overt in its wanting. But she’d asked him not to hide, demanded it, really. So this was the price she paid.

Truth be told, in his charcoal pants and sage button-up tailored perfectly to convey both elegance and ease, Molly wasn’t always certain she didn’t look at him in a similar way.

“How do you do that?” she asked before she could stop herself. Embarrassed heat erupted across her cheeks.

“Do what?”

“Just—look like that.” She shouldn’t have said it; she wished she hadn’t. Her obituary would remember her as a bright young woman who died of humiliation. Shame she hadn’t learned to think before she spoke.

Aster’s entire demeanor shifted, a gleam of something entirely too pleased flashing behind his eyes.

“Look like what?” he asked, that dimple emerging on the left side of his mouth.

“You know.” She needed a diversion. Perhaps a small explosion. Anything.

“I can’t say that I do. But I’d love it if you educated me.”

“You’re awful.”

“You brought it up.”

“All . . . you know . . . suave,” she concluded lamely. Apparently, that answer did not suffice.

Aster took two quick strides to her, leaving almost no space between them.

Molly’s heart jumped to her throat, a torrent of nerves ricocheting against her bones, trapped beneath her skin. Definitely too close. Definitely too much. Definitely too good-looking for his own good.

“Was that all?” he asked. It was a simple question, spoken under his breath and with a painful seriousness. Molly couldn’t think. That delicious spice and citrus cologne he wore had highjacked her intelligence.

“And,” she started. She paused at the feeling of his breath brushing up against her cheek. “And handsome. You look very handsome. Oh my God, okay. Let’s go.”

Molly fled to the car, refusing to look back at him.

“You didn’t have to leave in such a rush,” Aster said, settling into the driver’s seat while Molly occupied herself with the state of her nail beds.

Her quick escape meant nothing when they were headed to the same destination, when she still had to endure the close confines of a vehicle before attending the same social gathering.

“I didn’t even get a chance to return the compliment,” he continued, key in the ignition. “Because you look beautiful.”

From her periphery, he angled toward her, likely trying to catch her eye.