Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Okay.” His gaze goes even softer. “Can we make baked ziti one day, though? You could teach me how. Maybe Meadow-bug too. If you don’t want to, you don’t have—”
“Yes,” I blurt out.
“Perfect. What’s your favorite color?”
“Huh?” I meet his cobalt gaze.
“You said everything I ask you is about food, so I’m shaking things up.”
He grins, and I can’t help but do the same in response. “Blue.”
“Your favorite piece you’ve ever made?”
“My porch swing. It’s for my mom.” And there I go again, talking in this way that’s new to me.
“Well, that tells me a lot about you right there. Even if I didn’t already see it, now I’d know you have a big-ass heart in that chest of yours.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t know me very well.”
But then, I don’t know myself very well either.
“I know you,” he says softly. “And I want to know you more.”
The room gets echoey, blood rushing through my ears, heart pounding, chest aching…body tingling. I want to know him more too, but I can’t seem to say that. Don’t know how to let it be real. I sure as shit don’t know what it means.
I’m still leaning against the counter, with Tripp right in front of me. He’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that says Cassidy’s Carpentry above his heart. There’s a dusting of red stubble along his jaw, which is square and strong. His hair is messy, something I’ve noticed a lot with Tripp, parts of it flat from the beanies while other hairs stick up like they refuse to behave…the way I’ve always behaved.
When have I ever in my life broken the rules? When have I done something unexpected, something for no other reason than I just wanted to? The job, maybe, but even that is something I have to figure out one way or another because I can’t be unemployed forever.
Tripp swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs. The pulse in his neck beats to what feels like the same drum as my heart. He smells like fresh-cut wood, cinnamon, and kindness. Does kindness have a smell? If so, it’s Tripp Cassidy.
His gaze smolders, like he’s feeling the same want I am. The way he’s looking at me, eyes on my mouth, I think maybe he is.
He makes me feel good, makes me want, and I crave holding on to that, grabbing hold and taking it in because it’s so damn unfamiliar to me.
It’s almost like that moment with Dusty, leaning against the lighthouse all those years ago, except with Dust, I can’t say who kissed whom first, but with Tripp, I’m the one leaning in. I’m the one dying to taste him…and I am dying for it, in a way I wasn’t with Dusty that night. That had been all confusion and anger and jealousy. This is desire and connection and more.
My lips press against Tripp’s, slow and gentle at first, testing the waters. He kisses me back, both of us delving and exploring.
My lips burn with the kiss, but in a good way, like sun against your skin when you’ve spent too much time being cold. Tripp is like a warm jacket in the middle of winter, a mug of hot chocolate in freezing hands.
I let my tongue sneak out and tease his slightly parted lips.
What am I doing?
What does this mean?
What if Tripp hates it? Hates me? What if this makes me lose him?
I pull back. “I’m sorry. I…” Jesus. I don’t even know if he likes men, and I never thought I did.
“I’m not sorry. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now. I’ve been wanting you.”
Wanting me. Tripp wants me.
I smile and close the distance between us, taking his mouth again. The kiss isn’t slow this time. I push my tongue between his lips, and he opens for me, our mouths moving together. Tripp steps closer, pressing me between his wide, strong body and the counter, electrifying me in the best way.
My hands move to his hips, Tripp’s around my shoulders, his hand buried in my hair.
Our kiss is like a dance, a give and take. He lets me explore his mouth, taste every single millimeter of it, and then he does the same to me.
Each time we move, his stubble scratches against my skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. It’s like an earthquake, with aftershock after aftershock rocking me to my core.
My head spins with so many thoughts, but the pleasure of our kiss takes them away. The hungry sounds Tripp makes that I swallow down, the tug of his strong hand in my hair, the way he rocks his broad body against mine, and…oh…he’s hard, and damned if I’m not hard to.
“Dad?” Meadow calls from upstairs, and Tripp and I jerk apart.
I’m breathing heavily, an avalanche of thoughts coming down on me now that I’m not kissing him anymore.