Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Nathan,” I start, but Jude gently clasps the back of my neck, which settles me from arguing more.
“You’ll need it to start your own practice,” Jude says, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “You helped all of us crazy motherfuckers. Just imagine who else you can help.”
“You want to start your own practice?” Nathan asks, perking up. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Ugh. Because that was pillow talk late last night when me and Jude were dreaming out loud, whispering things we’d love to do one day. I didn’t think he’d literally try to make that happen for me the very next day. I don’t deserve this man.
Or maybe I do.
“It’s just an idea I was throwing around,” I admit with a sigh. “Something I might like to do one day.”
“I like it. I’m sure us Parks will be your number one clients, too,” Nathan says with a genuine smile that makes his eyes light up, reminding me of Jude. “And if you need an investor, you know where to find me.”
He stands, grabs his dessert plate, and then saunters off without another word.
Turning, I straddle Jude’s lap and cup his gorgeous face in my hands. “You think I could do it? Really?”
Jude closes his eyes and covers my hands with his. A serene smile ghosts over his lips. “Tate, sweet boy, I think you can do anything.”
My heart patters in my chest and I feel full.
Full of happiness and belonging and love.
Jude
Tate fits perfectly in my lap. I’m learning I like having him there. It’s one of those moments I am completely serene and at peace.
Like when I bake…
It’s hard to obsess over past mistakes and heartache when you’re worrying about folding in flour instead of stirring or adding just the right level of “warm” water to yeast. There’s a lot more than just the “love” ingredient as Violet claims. Baking is challenging.
It’s also rewarding.
Who knew I could enjoy it so much? I can afford for someone to cook for me, but getting in the kitchen and doing some things myself to surprise Tate, Wyatt, and Violet with what they actually like is incredibly gratifying.
Tate sits up in my lap to greet Violet as she shuffles toward us on the porch. It’s a bright, sunny day, though cool, and I’m enjoying my blissful Sunday afternoon with my man doing absolutely nothing.
“A little treat to hold you two lovebirds over until you have supper over at your daddy’s,” Violet says, passing a plated piece of pecan pie, a scoop of ice cream, and two forks.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come over?” Tate asks as he accepts the pie. “I know the family would like having you.”
She smiles at him but waves him off. “Someone has to keep Wyatt company. I’ll be fine here with him.”
Tate shrugs, satisfied with her answer, and thanks her before she leaves. Then he stabs at the pie with one of the forks before offering me a bite. Our eyes meet and like usual, heat burns hot between us. We still have a couple of hours to burn before going over to Dad’s…
“Jude!” Tate exclaims, eyes wide in mock horror at the feel of my growing erection beneath him. “Do you have a pecan pie kink?”
I bite the delicious dessert off the fork and smirk as I chew. “Maybe if I can eat it off of you.”
He snorts with laughter. “Gross. That would be so sticky.”
“Don’t worry, sweet boy, I’ll make sure I clean you up good with my tongue.”
Despite being eager to play in bed with Tate and sticky pie, I ignore my cock to live in this moment. The crisp air bites at my nose, ears, and fingertips, but the warmth between us is quite nice.
Soon, contractors will be here to redo our porch. By spring, it’ll be like new and much more inviting. I can’t wait to spend many days just like this one eating pie on the porch with Tate.
“Look, Jude!”
I peer past him to look at where he’s pointing. When I see a blue-and-green hummingbird hovering near the feeder, I blink several times to make sure I’m not imagining it.
“It’s…a hummingbird.”
“I’ve never seen one this close,” Tate says, voice breathy and filled with awe. “How beautiful.”
A ball of emotion clogs my throat and my eyes prickle. I’m learning not to bottle up my feelings or direct the bad ones toward myself, but instead talk it out. Tate is a great listener.
“Jude?” He sits the plate down on his legs and nuzzles his head against mine. “Oh, honey. What’s wrong?”
I sniffle, embarrassed that I’m getting upset over a damn bird. “I bought that feeder for my mom. The birds loved it. It was one of the very few things that survived the fire.”
He uses his thumb to swipe away a rogue tear on my cheek, his own bottom lip trembling.