Page 60 of The Light Within

The smoke from his cigarette was blowing into Cinn’s eyes. Yes, that was the reason for the hot prickle behind his eyelids.

“They were both dicks to me at first. But she wasn’t.” Well, she’d used that Frostbite shit on him within minutes of meeting him, but it was smooth sailing after that. “She’s got a heart of gold.”

“Aye, that she does!” Alexander chuckled on a drag of smoke. “Takes after her mother.”

The light streaming into the alley from the kitchen flickered.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

As the back door flew open, Alexander dropped his cigarette, smashing the glowing ember with his heel.

“Dad!”

It was hard to take Darcy’s angry tone and furious face seriously, thanks to her outlandishly fluffy pink dressing gown.

“You promised!” she almost shrieked. “You said you’d stop!”

No wonder Alexander had been so keen to join Cinn for a smoke.

“I didn’t know!” Cinn threw up his hands, dropping his own offensive cigarette for good measure.

Darcy clucked her tongue, glaring at her father. “Every doctor has told him it’s not good for his heart condition.”

Alexander chuckled. “Aye, lass. It was just a wee cheeky one for Christmas.” He shivered, then slipped behind her. “I’ll catch up wi’ ye two at a more decent hour.”

“Sorry, Darce,” Cinn said, following her back into the kitchen.

“You weren’t to know. He’s such a pain.”

Darcy scanned the kitchen, as if seeing it for the first time. Her frown deepened.

Cinn shuffled uneasily on the spot, feeling rather like she’d discovered him in the act of a crime.

Surely Darcy wouldn’t click—

“No,” she said, a gasp of pure horror. Darcy rubbed Cinn’s cheek, with her thumb, then held it up to the light to present cocoa powder. “You didnotwake up at four a.m. to make Julien that chocolate log he rudely demanded. Tell me this isn’t true.”

Heat rushed across Cinn’s cheeks. He broke eye contact, dropping to his knees to pick up the scattered egg shells.

“No,” Cinn muttered. “This is just a backup dessert. The Christmas pudding your mum bought looked a bit small.”

In actuality, it served twelve, but they were going to be tiny portions, he could tell.

“There’s no rolling pin for the sponge,” Cinn said too quickly.

Darcy crossed the kitchen to the wine rack, tucked neatly between two cupboards. She passed him a bottle of red.

Why hadn’t Cinn thought of that? He’d been too spoiled using Darcy’s cottage kitchen.

“You’ll want to—”

But he was already reaching for the parchment paper, to wrap it around the bottle.

Darcy rested both of her elbows on the counter, watching him closely. She laughed. “He does not deserve you, you know.”

Cinn hummed in reply.

“Are you always this nauseatingly cute in relationships, or has Julien put you under a spell?”

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