Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 71074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
"The potpie is enough, Chelsea," I say, and she smiles at me. When I get really, really close to her, she looks up at me. Don’t kiss her, don’t touch her, my head is screaming at me. "You look beautiful," I say, putting one hand on her hip and then bending to kiss her lips.
"Thank you." She smiles shyly and sits down in the chair. I only sit when she does. She grabs my plate and scoops out some chicken potpie. She then serves herself half the portion.
"Do you say grace?" she asks, and I just shake my head.
"Do you?" I ask, and she avoids my eyes. "We can if you want."
"I usually just…" She avoids my eyes, and it kills me that she is afraid to tell me something. I put my hand on hers, and she looks at me from the side. "Thank you for keeping Mayson safe," she says and then mumbles, "Amen."
I take my hand off hers and grab the fork. The minute the food touches my tongue, I moan. "This is so good."
"Doesn’t it taste a bit better knowing that you cooked it?" she asks me and I laugh.
"Let’s be real, you tolerated me," I say, and I just look at her. "It was one of the best days in a long, long time. Being with you," I say before I can stop myself. But now that it’s out there, how do I take it back? Better yet, I don’t want to take it back. "I shouldn’t have said that."
"Why?" she asks, avoiding my eyes, and it kills me that I made her sad. It kills me that anyone can make her sad, but most of all, that it was me. But my girl doesn’t avoid anything. Instead, she folds her arms on the table in front of her, and she stares at me. "Why shouldn’t you have said that? Is it because you don’t mean it?"
"No," I say, shaking my head. "Not at all. I do mean it. I mean every single word," I say, and my hand cups her cheek. My thumb rubs her cheekbone. "I just meant that."
"Eat before it gets cold." I nod and finish my plate. She gets up and grabs the empty plate. I look up at her, and she kisses me so naturally, it’s as if I’ve been doing it my whole life.
"Do you want ice cream with your apple pie?" she asks, and I get up and walk to her as she cuts the apple pie. She places a piece on the only plate on the counter.
"Are you not having any?" I ask, my mouth watering even though I’m stuffed. She shakes her head. "We can share,” I say, and she gets the ice cream, digging one scoop out and placing it on top of the hot pie.
We stand in the middle of her kitchen at the counter, and she walks over and gets two spoons. "You go first," she says, and I cut into it, the ice cream melting into the piece. I take the piece and put it on my tongue, and the heat from the pie with the cool of the ice cream makes me close my eyes.
"If you ever think about another career,” I say, taking another spoonful and now holding it up for her to taste. "You should think about becoming a chef."
She laughs, taking the apple pie from my spoon, and I pull it out too fast and a drop of ice cream remains on the corner of her mouth. I bend down to catch the drop with my tongue. She wraps her arms around my neck as my tongue slips into her mouth.
Dropping the spoon on the counter, I thread my fingers into her hair, pulling her even closer to me. We get lost in the kiss. Her hands going from my neck to my face, making sure the kiss doesn’t stop. Her chest molds to mine, and I want to pick her up and carry her over to the couch. I want to lie with her and get lost in all the kisses she’ll give me.
"Chelsea," I whisper and look at her as her eyes flutter open. The blue is now just a touch darker. Our chests rise and fall in unison. "I have never wanted anything in this world the way I want you," I admit. "Nothing and no one."
"Good." She smiles. "The feeling is mutual." I look down now, knowing that’s all we can have. But I also know that I’ve never let myself have what I want in my whole life. "You should get to bed," she says to me as if she senses my turmoil.
"I think that is a good idea,” I say, and neither of us moves.
"What do you want, Mayson?" she asks. "What do you really really want?"