Give Me Butterflies (Oaks Sisters, #1)

by Jillian Meadows

“Shouldn’t you be working instead of chatting with Eleanor about dukes and secret affairs?” That raises my hackles, and my usual conflict avoidance turns to dust in the wind as I spit the first thing that comes to mind. “Shouldn’t you be rewatching Star Trek so you have something educated to say at work today?” A ghost of a smirk flashes across Finn’s mouth before he can contain it. It’s the most positive reaction I’ve ever gotten from him. I think it would be a point in my column if we were keeping score. His jaw works as he narrows his gaze. “I’m more of a Star Wars guy, actually.” My laugh turns to a very unladylike snort when I try to stifle it. That would be a point for him. Damn it. Finn crosses his arms like he’s preparing for battle. “I need to speak with Eleanor. I could already be done with that if I hadn’t had to wait for you two to finish talking.” I fold my arms over my chest to match him and meet his eyes. Having to crane my neck to look at him probably makes me less intimidating than I’d hoped, but I mirror his facial expression and body language anyway. “Oh, please. Do forgive us women for being friendly to each other and asking about our weekends. Not everyone can barge through the doors like Kylo Ren, with a cape floating behind them, and glower at every person who crosses their path.” This time, he has to bite both lips to hide his amusement, but I still get a peek at it. “Have you been watching me walk in every morning?” He tilts his head and arches an ...

“I wanted to apologize. I’m worried I made a mistake, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.” He raises a brow. “Are you apologizing for spilling coffee all over my tie?” I narrow my eyes. “I’ve already apologized, even though it wasn’t just my fault. And I wouldn’t say coffee was ‘all over’ you. There was a barely visible speck on the edge of Neptune.” “Well, Neptune is very sensitive.” He sighs, and a fluttery feeling creeps into my belly. “You must be here to apologize for smashing my nose in the middle of a meeting, then.” He steeples his hands under his chin. That memory has me straightening in my seat. “That was justice after you mocked me for feeling nervous.” He drops his hands and leans forward, brows pinched in concern. “I wasn’t mocking at all. It was a failed attempt to check on you. I’m genuinely sorry if I sounded heartless.” My throat feels like the Sahara Desert as I try to swallow what he’s telling me. I chew the inside of my lip. “I guess the monologue you were forced to give about Pluto was punishment enough.” He chuckles, and the deep sound rolls over my skin, leaving tingles behind. “I do feel passionately about Pluto. He spent years in the planet club and then was suddenly exiled. I worry about him.” He grins. Grins. Am I in the right office? Does Finn have an identical twin, with the same gorgeous face, but without the grumbly personality, and I’ve actually found him this morning?

They hold hands and sing right in each other’s faces like they’re starring in their own Broadway show. The crowd would be going wild for their enthusiasm. When the last chorus begins, Millie reaches for Avery, and my heart skips when Avery accepts her hand with a timid smile. She steps up beside Millie and watches her for a few beats before her quiet voice joins theirs. Her movements are shy, but she beams up at Millie, trying to copy her dance through the rest of the song. My chest tightens, as though someone has taken hold of it and squeezed. Something about watching them together is so . . . right that it leaves me breathless. The song ends too soon, and an ounce of sadness trickles through me. I could’ve watched the three of them for hours. Little does Millie know, I’ve memorized every word of that song—not that she would ever catch me singing it. Our kitchen sing-alongs are a secret between me and the girls. “Uncle Finn loves that song,” El announces as she crashes back into her stool. “He always sings it with us.” Well, fuck. That lasted five seconds. Little snitch. “Does he, now?” Millie looks like a wolf on the scent of her next meal as she slowly turns my way. “We could’ve used another dancer.” I snort. “Never gonna happen.” “We’ll see about that. I have some potent powers of persuasion,” she boasts, and the sultry tone of her voice sends a hot thrill up my spine.

A muscle pops in his jaw. “You have a date tomorrow,” he says, low and gravelly. Heat burns in my cheeks. “I think so.” “You think?” A crease splits his brows. I nod, squirming in my seat. “I’m going on a date.” This feels like a lie since my “date” is with Micah, but I’m not sure how to change it at this point. My palms sweat from the intensity of his stare, and I want to simply breathe out the truth. Let the words cleanse the air between us and reduce the pressure on my lungs. But this is a definitive reason to stay away from each other. It’s already laid out there for me because I accidentally blurted it. I can’t fall any further into his charm because I have a date. Therefore, no more fingers in mouths. Period. He runs a palm over his beard and shakes his head. His mouth is a tense line as he thinks through something. Finally, he pushes his plate to the side and leans his elbows on the table. “Go on a date with me instead.” His voice is so sure. So clear. My eyes flare as my stomach flips. That statement is nowhere near the list of possible responses to what I said. “What?” One side of his lips kicks up. “Go on a date with me. Please.”

She wants to know what I want to do to her? Fucking everything. The words tumble from my lips. “I want to sink my fingers into your hair and kiss you. Taste your lips after months of wishing I could.” She leans in, setting her forearms on the counter. Her throat bobs as she swallows, and her eyes drift closed slowly like she’s savoring the idea. When she opens them again, they’re glossy and heavy with arousal as she whispers, “I want that too.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My fingers twitch like they have a mind of their own. Like they’re about to follow through with my words. I clench my fists and force myself to stay on this side of the counter. “Then what would you do?” she asks. This doesn’t feel real. Maybe I’m still asleep in my bed, having a fevered fantasy about her. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to wake myself up, but it doesn’t work. I’m still here, in the kitchen, with the woman of my dreams asking what I want to do to her. Taking a deep breath, I whisper, “I would run my hands up that shirt and finally feel your warm skin on mine. Find out if you’re wearing a bra, or if my fingers will get to slide over your nipples.” She goes perfectly still, and regret fills my chest. That was too far. I shouldn’t have said it. With our gazes locked, she presses her teeth into her bottom lip so hard that it turns white. Then she releases it and whispers, “No bra.” My legs go weak, and a low groan seeps from my throat.

“We aren’t very good at being just friends. I drew a line, and we weren’t supposed to cross it.” “Millie.” He rubs his thumb gently over the seam of my lips, then his fingertips move along my jaw, under my ear, and envelop the side of my neck. “Pretty sure I was erasing that line as you were making it.” His eyes are as dark as the night sky, and I’m falling into them, drifting through space without oxygen or anything to tether me. I’ll be completely lost there forever, and I’m still longing for it. “Is this okay?” he whispers, muscles tense like a predator holding himself back for the perfect opportunity to strike. I nod, leaning into the warm hand branding my neck. “Kiss me.” He breathes a sigh of satisfaction before removing his glasses and setting them on the floor. Then he draws close, and I stop breathing. I stop thinking. Velvet soft lips brush against my jaw, and heat swarms to the point of contact. They drift to my cheekbone, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping against my skin, leaving my nerves sizzling. Moving to my ear, he bites lightly at my earlobe, and it sends a bolt of lightning straight to my core. I try to suck in a breath, but it sounds more like a needy moan. His lips must be drugged, because I’m helplessly slipping into a lust-filled trance, and my muscles have turned to mush with the slightest touch. He pulls back with a devilish smile. “Look at you, already melting for me.” Those navy eyes dip to my mouth, and I lick my lips, desperate for them to...

Mom: Sorry to interrupt your date last night, Millie. Hope you had a great time! Tess: DATE? Was it with that tattooed Tinder guy you sent me a screenshot of? Dad: When are you bringing him home to meet us? Mom: I invited him for my birthday while I was talking to Millie. Mom: He’s quite handsome. Fabes: Is he the one with the tiny hands in that pizza picture you sent? Dad: Is he the one who was sick? Did he get you sick? Millie: I don’t know if you know this, Mom, but it IS possible to text one person individually instead of announcing everything to the whole family. 5535756900 Millie: Finn was the one who was sick, and he did not infect me, Dad. Tess: But does he have tiny hands? Millie: His hands are perfect. Tess: Like, perfect size to cover just your nipple or the whole boob? Mom: Tessa Oaks. That is inappropriate. Millie: Tess, see above message about texting individually. And they are normal six-foot-something man hands. Fabes: Mmm. That’s the size I like. Dad: How do I remove myself from this text

When I reach out to shake her hand, she clasps it and then turns our joined hands to look at mine like she’s inspecting it. She narrows her eyes and says, “Good-sized hands.” That’s the oddest greeting I’ve ever received. “Um . . . thank you?”

“My first option is Wingspan.” I hold the game under my chin like she did and press my cheeks into a wide smile like I did outside. “Board Game Geek says this is excellent.” She bites back a grin. “A generous wingspan is excellent.” I look at the box in my hands. “What do you mean?” A snorting laugh bursts out of her. “I wish Fable or Tessa were here. They’d get it.” She can tell I’m lost and slides into the chair next to me to lean my way. “Okay, there’s a popular fantasy-romance series where the sexy heroes have wings, and they use the term ‘wingspan’ as a euphemism for a man’s . . .” Her gaze drops to my lap suggestively. “The size of his wingspan relates to the size of his . . .” Her eyes flare with meaning. “The size of his pants?” I ask, feigning innocence. She leans closer and sets her hand on my thigh. “No. The size of his—”

“Here’s the plan,” I tell Millie as she takes a sip of her coffee. “You pick out your favorite book for me to read, and I’ll get my favorite book for you to read.” She slams her free hand to her chest with a loud gasp. “That’s blasphemy. You have one favorite book? Out of the millions of books in the world, you can narrow it down to one favorite?” She steps between two romance shelves, and I follow her into the aisle as she runs her fingers over the colorful spines. “There are so many good ones. How could I pick?”

“What you’re saying is, I could’ve had these already, and you’ve been withholding them?” “I keep these a secret until I know I truly like the person.” I shrug. “And I don’t know if I like you that much yet.” He flashes an impish grin. “You seem to like me when my tongue’s between your legs.”

So I’ve put all my anxious energy into getting dressed in the perfect outfit—a pair of fitted slacks, a bright white blouse with little flower details, and a pair of heels that are tall enough to give me a boost of authority without being so high that I’m going to fall in the interview. When I walk into the kitchen, Lena is in her pajamas, hair wild in every direction while she pours coffee into a mug. “Boss bitch energy,” she mumbles as she surveys my outfit, trying to sound a lot more awake than she looks. “Sleepy bitch energy.” I laugh, waving my hand in her direction. “Of all seven dwarfs, I identify most as Sleepy. Maybe Grumpy this morning.” She pours about a cup of creamer into the mug and gives it a stir before taking a sip. “This’ll help me rally, though.

“You’re very strong, Millie.” I scoff a laugh. “People keep telling me that, but I’m not. I couldn’t even tell anyone what was happening at the time.” Her brows lower. “That doesn’t say anything about your strength. You were strong every day of that relationship. You were strong last week, enduring being around him. You were strong yesterday, showing up for that interview. And you’re strong today, having this conversation with me. Strength isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s a quiet power that isn’t so obvious to the world.”

Thankfully, Mary and Dave have stepped flawlessly into the role of grandparents. They were cheering louder than anyone else in the audience when Eloise finished her first dance recital. They were an hour early to the kindergarten art show last week, and then proceeded to stand beside Avery’s watercolor painting the entire time, proudly informing everyone who walked by that their granddaughter was the artist. Their love for the girls is so obvious, so unconditional, and I could never express to them how grateful I am for it.