Page 125 of Tangled with the Tight End

Declan emerges from the kitchen, propelling on his crutches, his arm muscles bunching with every movement, hair mussed from sleep, a wide, lopsided smile on his face.

Our gazes collide and I can’t look away. The look in his eyes is different than I’ve ever seen before—lingering, playful and directed at me. His eyes flit to his jersey and back up to mine and his smile grows even more privately possessive.

“You’re awake,” he says. “How did you sleep?”

One of his brows twitches just the slightest and his eyes crinkle with amusement. He’s remembering our kiss. I know he is.

“I slept well,” I say calmly despite the way pinpricks are dancing across my skin at the memory of his arms around me, and the way he’s looking at me right now.

I glance at the woman with the vacuum cleaner. Her eyes are pinging between Declan and me.

“I’m Darlene,” she says to me.

Declan’s eyes meet mine. Declan finishes the introductions. “Darlene cleans our house. I don’t know how you two haven’t crossed paths yet.”

I smile at the note of affection in Declan’s voice and the way his eyes soften when he looks at Darlene. When he flashes her a smile, she beams back at him.

“I was coming early on Saturdays last month,” Darlene explains.

Darlene turns her attention back to me. “I’ve been cleaning for the O’Connells since Declan was a little boy.” Her voice drips with fondness.

“Darlene’s practically family.” Declan smiles at her and then his eyes meet mine again. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

My insides feel unusually fluttery. Putting food in my stomach when the butterflies are playing badminton seems like it would be tempting fate.

“How about some orange juice? Coffee?” Declan offers.

His warm gaze practically screams, We kissed last night. And I’m pretty sure Darlene hears every unspoken word.

Am I one of many? Is she used to seeing women pop out of bedrooms in the morning, wearing his jersey and requesting breakfast service? Chantal brought an overnight bag.

Darlene seems so chill with me and my appearance, I have to wonder.

I haven’t kissed a man in ages. And I wouldn’t have kissed Declan if he didn’t mean something special to me. Last night he looked at me like I was everything.

“I could go for some coffee,” I say, trying to maintain my composure.

Declan smiles broadly and pivots to head toward the kitchen. “Coming right up.”

I follow behind him, turning once to glance back at Darlene. “Nice to meet you,” I say.

“Same, Winona.” She smiles a warm, motherly smile. Then in a quieter voice, she says, “It’s nice to see Declan smile.”

I couldn’t agree more.

In the kitchen, Declan’s got his crutches propped under his arms so he can pop a pod into the coffeemaker. He downs the rest of a green drink and maneuvers to place the glass in the sink next to the unwashed blender.

The loud hum of the vacuum cleaner resumes, reminding me we’re not alone.

Declan looks over at me and smiles again, propelling toward me once the coffee is flowing. I take a seat on one of the barstools at the island.

He reaches me in two strides with the help of his crutches.

In a low voice, one he’s purposely keeping at a volume that will not reach the hallway, he says, “Good morning.”

He leans in with an ease I would expect if we had been dating for years and kisses my cheek, rough morning stubble lightly scrapes my skin, sending chills skittering through me.