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“That you’re an eleven.”
I give him a wry look as I slot the plates into the rack. “It’s very sweet of you to say so, but I know I’m not. I’m a six or seven on a good day, I think.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re an eleven. I’m a guy, I know these things.”
“Damon, I’m quite happy with being a seven.”
He folds his arms and leans a hip on the worktop. “You think because you have your hair in a ponytail and you wear tees and shorts and not designer dresses that it makes you a seven? It’s not clothes or makeup that define whether you’re a ten, Belle. It’s not even how gorgeous you are, although you are gorgeous, and saying you’re an eleven on the beauty scale is underplaying it. It’s what’s inside you. You have the soul of a beautiful woman, and always have had, right from when I first met you. Why do you think I called you ma belle? You were six. It wasn’t because of your figure or your face, although both those things are top notch. It’s because you were kind, and generous, and funny, and warm, even when you were a kid. You were pretty, as kids go, but your present physical beauty is a late edition. It’s just the cherry on top of the cake, though. You’re beautiful inside, Belle. That’s what I love about you.”
I stare at him. No man has ever crammed so many compliments into one sentence.
“What?” he asks, lips curving up.
“You love me?” I tease.
“Like a baby sister,” he says without missing a beat.
I glance over my shoulder to make sure nobody’s standing behind me, then look back at him. “A baby sister you like making come with your fingers?”
He purses his lips. “Um, yeah.”
We both laugh.
“Is this your praise kink coming out?” I ask softly.
He shrugs, his gaze caressing my face. “I just tell it how it is.” His eyes meet mine for a moment. Then he slides a hand to the back of my neck, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but he just presses his lips to my forehead.
“Aw,” I say. His hand is warm on my nape. I lean forward and rest my forehead on his chest.
His fingers linger a few seconds longer, stroking my neck, and when I shiver, he sighs.
“Come on,” he says. “Let me help you clean up. Then we can have another drink.”
I finish stacking the dishwasher while he tidies up, and then when we’re done, we go into the living room. There’s one armchair left, and a beanbag. He pushes me toward the armchair and lowers himself into the beanbag at my feet.
Dad gets us both a drink, and we all sit chatting for a while.
“Dad said you have a kids’ party tomorrow,” Gaby says to me.
I nod. “I thought I’d do a few while I was down here, so I got Sherry to put the word around at her school, and she managed to get me a few gigs. I brought my stuff with me.”
“She did a trick for me on the ferry,” Damon says. “It was brilliant. I think you should do one now.”
I laugh. “Aw, don’t mock me.”
“I’m not. Have you seen her do any lately?” he asks the others. They all shake their heads, because I haven’t done magic in front of any of them for years. “Go on,” he says to me.
“Yes, come on,” Sherry says. “I’d love to see you.”
The others join in, encouraging me. I glare at Damon. “See what you’ve started?”
He just winks at me.
I get to my feet. “All right, but if I’ve got to perform, you’re going to help me. Up you get.”
Laughing, he gets to his feet. I take his hand and move him in front of the others. “Distinguished guests,” I say, turning to face the rest of them, “I’m Belle Winters, and welcome to Winters’ Wonderland. Today I have the amazing Damon Chevalier helping me out, so please, give him a round of applause!”
Everyone chuckles and claps as he takes a bow.
