The Enemy (It Happened in Charleston 2)

June looks oddly thoughtful. She’s hiding something behind those green eyes, and I want to know what it is. But I also know that she’s not the kind of girl to spill her secrets. It’s going to take time to get them all out of her, so I let it be.

“Please? I also want to show you where I live and the restaurant I’ve been working in.” I’m basically trying to throw sprinkles on top of a broccoli sundae, hoping to make it look more appealing.

June moves her lips from side to side as she contemplates it. I’m holding my breath. “Okay,” she finally says, and then a big smile cracks over her lips, and she brings another bite of cereal to her mouth. “Actually, I was going to say yes from the beginning. I just like watching you sweat.” She side-eyes my torso and arms.

“Is that right?” I ask like the cocky devil I am.

Just to mess with her a little, I reach for the bottom hem of my shirt and lift my brow.

“Ryyyannn.” She says my name like she does when she wants me to behave. It only eggs me on.

I start lifting my shirt. “Is it hot in here or what?”

“Stop it! Ryan, don’t.” She covers her eyes dramatically with her blanket. “I’m just an innocent young woman.” But she’s chuckling.

“Okay, fine!” I say, sounding deeply disappointed. “You can look now. I was just kidding.”

June pulls down the blanket and finds me shirtless with a big ol’ grin. Her mouth falls open, and she gasps. But her eyes do not shut, nor do they come back up to my face. “Ryan Henderson!”

She grabs her glass of water and tosses it on me to really teach me a lesson. Water goes everywhere. I, however, don’t flinch because I just went on a run, and the cool water feels amazing.

June stands up abruptly and stomps into the kitchen, mumbling something about making it worse and then brings back a towel. I offer to let her dry me off, to which she takes the towel and pops me with it.

The rest of the morning goes on like this, with June and me doing what we do best: teasing and flirting. I end up prying her soggy cereal out of her hands and dumping it down the drain so I can make her a proper breakfast. We both eat and talk over our second cups of coffee, and June tells me little tidbits of her life that I’ve missed out on over the last decade. I do the same.

But I notice anytime my topic veers into the realm of work, she freezes up, so I avoid the conversation of work like the plague. Instead of talking about my job, she learns about the hot dog vendor I swear makes a better meal than any gourmet dish I’ve ever had, and I tell her about the little bistro where I spent most of my off-time during culinary school.

“What was it like?” she asks, leaning forward.

It’s odd. I haven’t thought about that bistro much since I left France, but lately, it’s been sitting at the forefront of my mind. It feels good to finally let it out. “Honestly, it was nothing special. It was dark, and small, and only sat about fifteen people. But there was something so nice about it. They didn’t even have many options on the menu. Everything was simple, nonintrusive, and just what I needed after a long day of overanalyzing every single spice and herb on the planet.”

“Sounds nice,” says June with a soft smile that I want to swim in.

“Maybe I’ll get to take you there one day.” But shoot, I think I spooked her. The spell breaks, and she takes in a deep breath, looking around the table before standing up.

“Wow, when did it get to be so late? I’ve got to get to the bakery.” Suddenly, she’s the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, and she’s late for a very important date. And I know why. I just yanked her down in the water another inch, and she wasn’t ready for it.

Before she can walk away, though, I grab her hand and pull her to a stop and tug her down onto my lap. “Don’t do that,” I say, making her look at me.

“Do what?”

“Get weird on me again.”

She avoids my eyes by looking down at where her finger is running across my collarbone. “I’m not weird. You’re weird.”

I grin at her attempt at a burn and bend my head to catch her eyes. “I can’t help it, June. I’m trying to hold back, but it’s tough. I’ve been holding back from you since I was twelve. I don’t want to anymore.” I also really need her to stop doing that with her finger, because I’m trying to move slowly and respectfully with her, but my brain is trying to erase those words from my vocabulary.

June’s shoulders soften, and she slides her gaze to mine. She contemplates me for a second and then slowly bends forward to kiss me. It’s short. Her lips were barely on mine long enough for me to blink, but that kiss means more to me than any kiss I’ve ever had, because she initiated it.

I’m filled with the urge to go out and buy an important leather-bound journal complete with quill and ink so I can transcribe what just happened. November 15, June Broaden kissed me by her own accord. That’s the only thing I would ever write in that journal, because the memory deserves a monument all its own. It’s progress.

She’s smiling as she pulls away and then pokes me in my cheek where my dimple lives. “I’m trying. It’s going to take me longer, though, because I wasn’t expecting this, and I’ve been conditioning myself since I broke things off with Ben to believe that I can’t trust anyone.”

“I understand that.”

“Do you?” she asks, looking like she truly wants to know.

“I do.”