Page 18 of Summer in Kentbury
Sinclair
I spendthe rest of the night juggling spreadsheets and brainstorming strategies to save my father’s company—a kind of late-night heroics that involves less capes and more caffeine. The stakes are high: I’m playing for the livelihood of the company’s employees, hoping to keep them from the unemployment line. But as much as I’m focusedon this mission, Lavender keeps sneaking into my thoughts, her vibrant presence refusing to be ignored.
Her playful taunts and easy laughter echo through my mind, a delightful distraction that refuses to be silenced. Earlier, we had casually thrown around the idea of having ‘friend dates,’ a simple, no sex and no-strings-attached way to enjoy each other’s company through the summer weeks.
It sounded straightforward, uncomplicated. But here I am, questioning whether something more real might be forming between us, a connection that runs deeper than mere companionship. It’s not just about passing the time in Kentbury anymore—how could it be when I find myself thinking about her at the oddest moments, my heart skipping a beat at the mere mention of her name?
And then, there’s that accidental proposition. Sure, she laughed it off, saying it was all a big misunderstanding. But the idea lodged itself in my brain, and now it’s like a song stuck on repeat. Just imagining being close to her somehow turns my brain into a lovesick poet, crafting sonnets about the curve of her smile and the depths of her eyes.
The worst part is that I’m no poet. All I read in my spare time are thrillers and the news, stories of suspense, and cold, hard facts. But here I am, thinking about Lavender Wilde, her playful green eyes and the way I want to take her mouth, to claim it as my own—slowly and tenderly, I’d savor every moment, every soft sigh and whispered breath.
I can almost feel the brush of her lips against mine, the way her body would melt into my embraceas we lose ourselves in the kiss. It wouldn’t be just a physical connection, but a meeting of souls, a profound shift in the very fabric of my being. With one kiss, Lavender would become the axis upon which my world turns, the gravitational force that pulls me ever closer.
I imagine the way her fingers would tangle in my hair, the way our hearts would beat in perfect sync as we explore this newfound intimacy. In that moment, everything else would fade away—the spreadsheets, the company’s troubles, the weight of the world on my shoulders.
All that would matter is the feel of her in my arms, the knowledge that we’ve found something rare and precious in each other.
It’s a fantasy, I know, but one that I can’t seem to shake. Even as I try to focus on the task at hand, my mind keeps drifting back to Lavender, to the possibility of a future where we’re more than just friends, more than just two people passing through each other’s lives. I want to be the one to make her smile, to be the reason her eyes light up with joy and passion.
How could I focus on anything else when I can’t stop picturing her, the warmth of her skin against mine, the taste of her lips on my own?
It’s her own fault for propositioning me—even when she didn’t mean to do it. Just the idea of being with her somehow makes me feel like I’m on cloud nine. Which sounds too damn corny and something I have never wanted to experience in my life.
Dragging my attention back to the spreadsheets, Itry to refocus on profit margins and market predictions. But let’s be honest, financial forecasts are no match for daydreams of Lavender’s smile, the way her laughter seems to light up the room. It seems my late-night number crunching has turned into crafting mental scenarios where things between us evolve beyond casual hikes and shared laughter, a future where we build something real and lasting together.
Surprisingly,the next morning I wake up fresh even after only a few hours of sleep. I go for my daily run and, deciding to smooth over any lingering tension, I head to my grandmother’s bakery.
“What brings you here so early, Sin?” Grandma greets me, her eyes crinkling with joy as she pulls me into a warm hug. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving so soon because I won’t have that. You haven’t been visiting me as often as I’d like and I’ve yet to learn more about you.”
This lady is becoming one of my favorite people. I don’t think my mother has ever been as concerned and affectionate as Grandma Genie.
When I first arrived, I thought it was some kind of trick to keep me around just like she’s done with my siblings. However, after a few days I realized that she honestly cares for us—no tricks.
The other two are my sisters. I always had a soft spot for them, but after they moved to Kentbury, they’ve been calling me more often and showing me that I matter to them. I regret not looking out forthem the way they deserved after things blew up with our dad, but I’m trying my best to make it up to them after everything that’s happened.
“Don’t worry, I’m not leaving just yet,” I assure her. “I promised I’d stay for at least two weeks—and we have a lunch date today, remember? How could you think that I’m leaving?”
She grins. “The ladies at the crochet club are delighted to know you’ll be joining us.”
Those ladies are flirty, but Paul promised me that none of them are dangerous. They might try to introduce me to their granddaughters, but that’s pretty standard for the grandmas in general.
“So, what can I do for you?” Grandma asks, her hands on her hips.
“Just thought I’d start the day with some of your magical treats,” I say, leaning over the counter to kiss her cheek. “I’m sharing them with the guests at the B&B.”
She gives me a skeptical look, her brow furrowed. “You leave the Wilde girl alone, you hear me.”
I lift my hands in resignation, my eyes wide with innocence. “No one is doing anything.”
“Good, because that girl needs a man who wants to build a life with her, and we both know you’re not there yet.”
I feel a flash of offense, my shoulders tensing. “Why does everyone keep telling me that?” I ask, my voice rising slightly. “It’s like you’re automatically shoving me into the damaged goods pile—don’t touch, return to factory for destruction.”
“That’s not true. Your sisters already told youwhat you have to do. You need to learn to open your heart first. Now tell me what treats would you like so I can pack them for you,” she says, her tone brooking no argument.
“Croissants, maybe a few cookies, and one of those éclairs I can’t resist,” I say, my mouth watering at the thought.
“You’re spoiled, but I’ll give you two,” she says, shaking her head with a fond smile.
