Page 31 of Summer in Kentbury
This guy has been slowly but surely breaking down my walls, chipping away at the barriers I’ve built around my heart until I can’t help but let him in.The man embargo is over, well sort of, because I wouldn’t lift it for just anyone—only him.
As we walk hand in hand toward the B&B to go out for breakfast. I can’t help but feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be, like this is the start of something big, something life-changing, but wonderful and terrifying all at once.
We driveto the town square, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the quaint storefronts and bustling sidewalks. The morning sunlight spills over the dashboard, casting a warm glow that seems to accentuate the easy silence between us.
“I’ve actually never been to this diner,” Sinclair confesses as he expertly maneuvers into a parking spot right in front of the quaint establishment. “But I’ve heard their breakfast is worth writing home about.”
He turns off the car, and in one fluid motion, exits and strides over to my side. The click of the door signals his arrival, and he opens it with a flourish, offering me his hand with a playful bow. “Madam,” he jests, and I can’t help but giggle as I take his hand, stepping out into the cool morning air.
We approach the diner’s entrance, and Sinclair reaches out to open the door, holding it wide for me with a gentle nod. “After you,” he says, and I step inside, immediately greeted by the comforting and alluring aromas of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon.
As we enter the cozy diner, the atmosphere is warm and welcoming, buzzing with the murmurs of early risers and clinking cutlery. Sinclair guides me to a booth by the window, his hand briefly resting on the small of my back—a touch so slight yet reassuring.
“Ah, the classic diner experience,” he grins, sliding into the booth after ensuring I’m comfortably seated. “Is there anything better than pancakes and bacon on a lazy morning?”
I laugh, the sound mingling with the soft hum of the diner. “I don’t know, a mimosa might give it a run for its money.”
He gasps, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “You’re wrong. Nothing beats the holy trinity of pancakes, bacon, and coffee.”
Just then, a perky college-aged waitress bounces up to our table, her blonde ponytail swinging and a bright smile on her face. “Good morning. Welcome to Rosie’s Diner, where the coffee’s always hot and the bacon’s always crispy. Can I interest you in our daily specials? We’ve got a mouthwatering spinach and feta omelette or a stack of blueberry pancakes that’ll make your taste buds sing. And of course, we’ve got plenty of coffee to fuel your day.”
Sinclair flashes her a charming smile. “I’ll just have the pancakes with a side of bacon, please. And a coffee, black.”
The waitress nods, jotting down his order on her notepad. “You got it. And for you, miss?”
“Make that two,” I add, “but I’ll have an orange juice instead, please.”
As the waitress walks away, Sinclair reaches acrossthe table, taking my hand in his. His thumb brushes the back of my hand gently, sending a wave of tingles up my arm. “I’m really glad we’re doing this,” he says, his voice soft yet earnest.
“Having breakfast?” I tease, trying to lighten the moment with a playful grin.
“No, taking a small break before the camp starts. I really wanted to see you last night, but I arrived after midnight and didn’t want to wake you up,” he explains.
“Where are you staying?” I ask, curious and a bit hopeful about his proximity.
“Paul’s for now. Apparently, you have plenty of roommates in the house.”
I shrug. “Yeah, there are a few more counselors from out of town. They’re all fun though. So you’ll be staying with your brother?”
He shakes his head, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. “Nope. I’m getting a room at the B&B and then looking for a house.”
“A house?” My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Are you moving here? I mean, Genie mentioned that your siblings seemed to fall in love with Kentbury and decided to stay forever. Though I didn’t think you would since you have your business in Boston.”
“No, but we might as well have a place where we can crash when we come back to visit family and friends,” he says, his gaze drifting out the window momentarily.
My heart skips a beat at his casual use of “we.” I clear my throat, trying not to show my surprise. “Umm, not to rain on your parade, but I don’t have money to buy a house . . . or family in town.”
He flinches slightly, his smile faltering. “Well, not now, but later,” he stumbles over his words, clearly not having thought that far ahead.
“Oh, you’re back on a race against yourself,” I laugh, shaking my head gently. “We’re definitely not there yet. We haven’t even had a first date yet.”
“I might agree, but you have to admit that even if we don’t get together for another year or five, the house will come in handy,” he argues, his tone hopeful. “You said it yourself. You’d like to come more often. Wouldn’t you want to be comfortable in your own place?”
“Your place,” I correct him softly, my voice low.
“Semantics,” he says with a bashful smile, looking a bit embarrassed.
“You’re adorable, you know? I like how you think ahead,” I admit, the corners of my mouth curling up in amusement. Sometimes, his forward-thinking is part of his charm, even if it is a bit premature.
