Page 122 of Dream Chaser
“You can’t just claim that,” I scold, eyes wide.
“Why not?” he replies, completely unfazed.
Mom giggles. Dad chuckles. And I? I combust slowly from the inside out.
“Three weeks, and you’re claiming ‘part of the family?’”
He leans in, grinning like he already owns the place. “Trust me, Iz; you’ve been mine in one way or another since I met you,just took me some time to figure it out. Now it’s time for you to catch up.”
Dad and Mom both laugh. I refuse, so I glare instead.
Looking at the man across the island, at home in my home, I realize with a terrifying clarity that … this is happening. And it’s so much easier when it’s just a maybe.
So, yeah, I stay close to Dad. Because I don’t need protection from Griffon Skinner.
I need protection from my own goddamn heart.
Dad leans back in his chair, smirking as he sips his coffee like he’s not about to ruin my life with a single question. “So … what exactly did you mean by ‘I win?’”
I choke on air. Actually, breathing air.
Skinner doesn’t miss a beat. “It means she was the one to crack by communicating first. Now she owes meanythingI ask of her, and she can’t tell me no.”
My face catches fire. Like, full-on sunburn.
“What the hell, Griffon,” I hiss, eyes again wide. “These aremy parents?”
Mom sets her cup down gently, but I swear she’s trying not to laugh.
Griffon just leans forward with a shit-eating grin and shrugs. “About that debt?—”
“No,” I snap.
“Yes.” His eyes are warm but a little mischievous. “I’ve never had a Valentine before. Not a real one. No heart-shaped chocolates, or red roses, or awkward public declarations.”
Dad mutters, “You’re welcome to skip those after the two of you have kids.”
“Dad!”
Griffon keeps going, undeterred. “So, this year, I want a real Valentine. One that says yes to a proper date. Dinner. Flowers. Maybe I hold your hand in public without you flinching like Ijust proposed marriage. Because, Izzy Ross, we are not going to rush into that and bypass the dating part. We deserve that part of our story, too.”
Mom bites her lip to keep from laughing. Dad clears his throat. I’m too busy staring into Griffon’s gorgeous, hopeful eyes while my insides stage a full-blown emotional coup.
“And if that’s too much,” he adds softly, “then maybe just stop hiding me. You and I walk into Brooks Brewery and let them know—even if you’re still figuring it all out—that you’re giving me a chance to prove that I’m worthy of being let in.”
I press my lips together, heart hammering. I glance at Dad, who raises a brow and offers zero rescue, and then at Mom, who looks dangerously close to tearing up.
Skinner leans back, arms crossed, smug as hell. “Tick-tock, Valentine.”
I want to throw a napkin at his face. I want to dive under the table. But I also want to kiss him until he forgets every word he just said.
Instead, I reach for my coffee and mutter, “Fine.”
And he, with this smug, sexy, cocky grin, beams like I just handed him the Lombardi trophy.
Dad grumbles, “Again with the cheese.”
Mom sighs, “In the sweetest way.”
