“I will,” I acknowledge, the words more a promise to myself than anything else. “I just need some time.”

  “Regardless of how things started,” Scarlett proposes, her voice thoughtful. “I think you two could be friends. That is, if you both gave it a chance.”

  My mind wanders. Friends? With Silas Finn? The man I've traded barbs and sarcastic remarks with since the day we met? The very thought seems absurd, yet…

  A peculiar warmth spreads through my chest. The truth is, despite the initial terror and the undeniable awkwardness, there was a sense of security in his presence during those petrifying moments in the elevator. In the past few years, my panic attacks have become a rare occurrence, controlled and manageable. But never before had I felt so utterly vulnerable, so utterly dependent on someone else. Silas Finn, at that.

  “So, you think he's a good guy?” I ask tentatively, the words tumbling out before I can fully consider their implications.

  Scarlett shoots me a surprised look. “Silas? Yeah, sure. Always struck me that way. Competitive as hell, of course, but…” she trails off, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

  “But there might be more to him under all that ego.” I finish her thought, curiosity sparking within me.

  She winks. “Exactly. Give him a shot, Myra. You might be pleasantly surprised.” She dusts off her hand. “Let’s go.”

  The idea of a Silas surprise terrifies and excites me in equal measure. I follow Scarlett back to the main yard, where the kids are waiting. My mind drifts as she reads out the instructions for the scavenger hunt.

  There’s one thing I do know. I don’t want to be friends with Silas. The man gets under my skin too quickly, too easily, and the feeling of the air crackling between us every time we meet is too much to be considered a friendship. The idea seems as realistic as juggling flaming chainsaws.

  My head spins with the sudden shift in perspective. For weeks now, Silas has been the obstacle, the rival constantly pushing me to excel. Seeing him in a different light, as a potential friend, feels like trying to solve a puzzle with all the wrong pieces.

  Then why am I attracted to him at the same time?

  A gentle tap on my arm brings me back to the present. Scarlett gestures towards the eager throng of children, their faces beaming with anticipation.

  “Showtime,” she declares with a grin.

  The whistle blows, unleashing a torrent of tiny bodies into the playground. A cacophony of shouts and laughter erupts as they scramble to collect the hidden treasures.

  I find myself swept up in the joyful chaos, a smile curving my lips as I watch the children exude

  pride over their discoveries. Yet, beneath the surface, a different current simmers.

  My mind drifts here and there, with a certain mysterious handsome man at the center of my thoughts. I shake my head. The ludicrousness of my situation floods me. How could I be drawn to the very man I’ve only known for a little over a month and who I’ve spent that short amount of time sparring with?

  Does he even feel the same way about me? Yeah, right. Him not calling me proves otherwise. He probably doesn’t care either way and was just being a polite gentleman the other day. It has become my second nature that his mere presence triggers a string of witty retorts and competitive jabs.

  As the afternoon wears on, the memory of that fateful elevator ride replays vividly in my mind and stimulates a tangle of emotions. My vulnerability, the stillness, the darkness, and then…his unexpected touch. A fleeting brush of lips, igniting a passion within me.

  My breath catches in my throat. This fluttering in my chest, this unfamiliar warmth that spreads through me whenever I think of him. It's entirely new territory. In the past, relationships have been boring and straightforward, absent of these impulses, torn feelings, and dreams.

  This is ridiculous. That's the only way to describe it. I, Myra Quinn, never fall prey to the heart-fluttering, daydream-inducing nonsense that plagues countless rom-coms. Love? Lust? Those are only figments of a fictional world.

  Except…

  The undeniable truth stares me square in the face. My body betrays my logical reasoning around this man. My pulse quickens at the thought of him, my stomach flips whenever our paths cross – these are not figments of my imagination. They’re real. Tangible. Terrifying. Ugh!

  “Myra?” A low, hesitant voice cuts through the post-game lull.

  I look up to find Avril standing before me, a shy smile gracing her features.

  Squatting down, I spread my arms wide. “Hey there, little adventurer! How'd you do in the scavenger hunt?”

  A grin splits her face as she throws her arms around my neck in a sudden, enthusiastic hug. Her particular scent of sunshine and bubblegum fills my senses.

  “I don’t know.” She scrunches her nose and crinkles her brow in a cute way. “I think I did good.” She pulls back to reveal a treasure trove of plastic eggs clutched in her tiny hands.

  Carefully, I take the eggs, sorting through the colorful haul. Plastic dinosaurs, a rubber band shaped like a butterfly, a miniature whoopee cushion. Her collection brews a playful smile on my lips.

  “Wow, you did awesome,” I remark, awarding her points with a marker on the scorecard. “Looks like you're a natural at this game. Top three, easy!”

  Her eyes widen with delight. “Really?”

  “Absolutely!” I confirm, handing her two chocolate bars, the standard prize for a full box. “You earned them, champ.”

  Taking a bite of the chocolate, her eyes pucker in pure joy. Scooting closer, she settles beside me on the bench.

  “My daddy used to play scavenger hunts with me in Chicago,” she says, her voice wrapped with a hint of wistfulness.

  “Chicago, huh?” I echo, a casual question laced with a sudden surge of curiosity. “That must have been so much fun compared to here!”

  “It was,” she agrees, her eyes dreamy. “But we had to move here a little while ago.”

  “Why's that?” I ask gently, my heart starting to pound a frantic tattoo against my ribs. A strange premonition prickles at the edges of my mind.

  “Dad says it's work stuff,” she explains, her forehead wrinkling in concentration. “He's a realtor, you know, the guy who helps people buy houses.”

  OMG! The pieces click into place with a sickening thud. The familiar glint in her brown eyes, the same black hair – the realization slams into me with the force of a freight train. This sweet, talkative child…she's Silas’s daughter.

  Tightness immediately grips my chest. A vision of him holding the hand of this little girl flashes before my eyes. Did he remarry after his ex-wife? Does he have a whole life completely separate from our work rivalry?

  And yet, he kissed me!

  Suddenly, I’m swept up in a tide of nausea, a bitter mix of anger and confusion. How dare he!

  “So, where's your mom?” I ask tentatively, the question looming heavily in the air.

  Avril shakes her head, her lower lip trembling slightly. “I never had a mom. Just dad. But he's the best dad ever. He gives me the biggest hugs and reads me stories every night.”

  The gravity of her words sinks in, debunking my initial suspicion. The pure, unadulterated love that shines from her eyes as she talks about her father speaks volumes. This man, who always infuriates me, has another side to him that I know nothing about. I just thought he had the world’s biggest ego. But Silas as a single father, raising his daughter with what appears to be unwavering love and devotion, still seems strange to me.

  “He sounds incredible, Avril.”

  Her eyes light up. “He is! He wants to meet you, you know. I told him all about you and the painting. I told him you’re my friend.”

  A nervous chuckle escapes my lips. “You did, huh?”

  She nods and takes another bite of the chocolate. “I think you’ll like him if you meet him. He’s cool, like you.”

  Oh, you have no idea. I nudge the little girl and ruffle her hair. A mischievous smile spreads across my lips as I accept. “I think we should meet, too.”

  I'm practically bouncing off the walls with excitement inside picturing the expression on his face when I show up as his daughter's friend. The thought of it has me giggling like a kid in a candy store.

  10

  Silas

  A muffled grunt breaks between my lips as I shove the report back into my briefcase and walk out of Victoria’s office. The past few weeks have taught me that it’s going to be an uphill battle trying to satisfy her quirks.

  I head towards my car, the familiar hum of the townsfolk a comforting backdrop to the day's work. The unexpected vibration of my phone buzzing around in my pocket pulls me from my thoughts.

  Digging it out, I see an unfamiliar local number flashing on the screen. With a shrug, I press the answer button.

  “Hello?”

  A riveting voice tinkles through the receiver, one that sends an electrifying surge through my veins. “Silas?”

  “Myra?” The name tumbles from my lips before I can even process the shock. “How are you? Is everything alright?” I stumble, my words rolling over one another.

  With a surprised laugh, she exclaims, “Jeez! How'd you recognize my voice so fast?”

  My mind scrambles for a reasonable response. “Uhhh…” The truth – that the memory of her voice, dripping with exasperation and wit, is permanently engraved in my brain – seems wildly inappropriate.

  “I guess I got a knack for these things. Maybe I should consider being a part-time psychic,” I joke, the words sounding lame even to my own ears.

  “Hmmm.” Silence hangs on the line for a beat, then, “Turn left.”

  The command is so unexpected, but just her style. I smirk, and without question, follow the instruction.

  And there she is. Leaning against a lamp post, bathed in the radiance of the beautiful sunset. She is in a white fitted blazer with a short skirt, her long legs stretching out into high heels. Her red hair cascades down her shoulders, making her look downright gorgeous.

  Our eyes meet, and immediately, there's a palpable electricity in the air, crackling with intensity.

  My heart stutters in my chest, an anxious drumbeat against my ribs. Every logical thought dies in my mind, replaced by a primal surge of something resembling excitement or hope? Whatever it is, the thrill pulsing through my veins is making me break a sweat.

  She waves, a playful glint in her eyes. “Hey there, stranger.”

  What? No barb or harsh words today? Maybe the elevator situation changed things and brought us closer than I expected.

  “How did you know I’d be here?”

  “It’s not rocket science, genius,” she teases. “Our receptionist told me.”

  Her attitude seems different. She has an air of ease and calmness that wasn't there before, and there's a subtle softness to her features. It’s inviting.

  “Oh, right. How have you been?” My voice comes out a touch rougher than intended.

  “Good. Thanks to you, actually,” she replies, her smile widening.

  Relief washes over me. “Glad to hear it.”

  Silence follows, the air thick with what appears to be compassion between us. Then, she throws me a curveball. “So, dinner? Take it as my way of saying thank you.”

  I stop in my tracks. Dinner with Myra? The idea kindles a blaze within me. The past few days have been a constant battle with self-control, the memory of that stolen kiss playing on a loop in my mind. I picked up my phone so many times, the urge to call her burning through me, only to be quashed by the fear of appearing overly eager.

  And now, here she is, extending this invitation. It takes every ounce of willpower to keep my voice steady.

  “Dinner sounds good. I’m starving. But can you give me one sec to take care of something?”

  “Sure.”

  I quickly exchange messages with Roger to see if he can hang with Avril a while longer. Once that’s settled, I turn back to Myra. “Thanks. All set. So, what do you have in mind?”

  “Great, follow me,” she gestures.

  She leads the way towards a cozy looking restaurant on a side street. I fall in step beside her, and I can't help but steal glances at her. She’s mesmerizing. The way the light bounces off the waves of her hair, the graceful swing of her hips with each step – it's enough to make my head spin.

  This isn’t a date, Silas. It’s a simple thank you dinner. Get a grip! But even that logical explanation fails to control the surge of anticipation that moves within me.

  The buzz of the restaurant invites us as we step inside. The host leads us to a secluded corner booth that offers a certain level of intimacy.

  We settle in and a waiter materializes beside our table, with a practiced smile forged on his face.

  Myra takes charge, perusing the menu she must have seen a thousand times. “I'll have the grilled salmon with roasted vegetables, please.”

  I glance at the menu, my appetite suddenly overshadowed by the nervous desire within. “The steak special will do for me. Medium rare. Thank you.”

  The waiter nods and retreats, leaving us to the gentle clinking of ice cubes in our glasses. The silence stretches, pungent with unspoken words.

  Then, she throws me another curveball. “So, did you make good use of my little indisposition to catch up on the Harper Project?” A hint of amusement threads through her voice, a familiar challenge sparkling in her eyes.

  A wry smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “What do you think I did, Myra? Danced a jig while cackling maniacally?”

  She lets out a low laugh, the sound tinkling like wind chimes. “Well, a few days ago,” she counters, cocking her head to the side. “That wouldn't have been entirely out of character for you. I’d expect you to celebrate my misfortune and gloat over my temporary setback.”

  My smile falters slightly. Past tense. The subtle shift in her words doesn't go unnoticed. “That’s past tense, right?” I probe. “Does that mean you no longer believe I’m capable of that?”

  Her gaze meets mine, a trace of something new stirring in its depths. “Honestly, Silas,” she admits, her voice soft. “Meeting your daughter… well, it changes things.”

  I clear my throat. Daughter? I feel like a silent bombshell just dropped on the table. My eyes narrow instinctively.

  “Daughter?” I muster, the single word tainted with disbelief.

  “Avril, right? You don’t have two kids now, do you?” she grins.

  “How did you meet Avril?”

  “Well, hello. I’m Myra Quinn,” she extends her hand across the table, humor dancing in her eyes. “I volunteer at Victoria Harper’s summer program. Nice to meet you.”

  The dots finally connect. She’s the cool lady who worked with Avril on the painting that Avril couldn’t wait to introduce me to. I chuckle and take her hand.

  “Silas Finn,” I reply, my voice husky. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

  A friendliness settles between us, and then I speak, my voice unveiling delight. “So, you're telling me that a single meeting with my daughter changes your perception of me entirely? Well, isn’t that convenient?”

  “Convenient, perhaps. But it’s true that if you’re a great dad, you can’t possibly be that bad of a guy.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Plenty of great fathers are also…well, deadbeats.” I lean in slightly, a playful glint mirroring hers. My voice drops to a low rumble. “You’re not worried that I may be a good dad, but an evil man with an even worse agenda?”

  She bursts into laughter and waves a dismissive hand. “You're not exactly scary, Silas!”

  The waiter arrives before I can say anything else. We delve into our meals, a sense of ease among us, punctuated by the sounds of clinking silverware. Stealing glimpses at Myra across the table, I find myself enthralled by her mannerisms. The restaurant lights paint her features in a warm hue, highlighting the sparkle in her eyes. There's a definite shift in the atmosphere between us, a new dynamic that hums with a subtle undercurrent of… something. Something I can't quite define but am eager to explore.

  “So,” I murmur, letting the name roll off my tongue. “Myra is a nice name. I don’t hear that often and I’m from the big city of Chicago.”

  A smile graces her lips. “Thank you. It's a family name, actually.”

  “Meaning?” Wonder compels me to ask.

  She leans back in her chair, a thoughtful expression flitting across her face. “Something about being 'fragrant,' 'favorable,' 'admirable.' Oh, and a leader, I think.”

  My heart skips a beat. “Admirable,” I echo, the word resonating with me. “That certainly fits.”

  The statement draws a laugh from her, a melody that washes over me like a warm summer breeze. “This coming from the man who spent the past few weeks trying to drive me up the wall!”

  A rueful smile forms on my lips. “Can't deny that. You've given me more grief and competition than any other agent I know.”

  Her eyes dazzle with amusement. “Oh, the things you must have been thinking of me.”

  I shrug, trying to maintain nonchalance. “Let's just say my initial impression was…unexpected.”

  “Unexpected?” she repeats, reflecting. “Well, it can’t be as bad as mine.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  She giggles and covers her mouth. “I was picturing a pot-bellied, middle-aged loser trying to make a comeback.”

  “What?” My jaw drops momentarily, then I look down at my belly. “I think you went a little bit too far into the future.”

  She erupts in a peal of laughter that fills the corner of the restaurant. The sound is infectious, dissolving any lingering friction between us, and creating a new sense of comfort. I can't help but marvel at the way her laughter lines crease around her eyes, and the way her red hair runs down her shoulders like a fiery waterfall.

  The conversation flows easily, shifting from work to more personal topics. We share more stories of funny challenges at work from the past. I mostly listen to her talk, watching her hands move expressively, punctuating her words with animated gestures.

 

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