Things We Burn Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports, Virgin Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
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I picked up my helmet, ready to get back.

“Gladly will, once I get the promise you’ll come meet your niece when she’s born.”

Knox stilled. Me requesting a promise was as good as an oath to him. Knox didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. And though he’d been there for me in many ways throughout the years, vanilla, family shit like meeting babies was outside of his wheelhouse.

I saw him consider my request, waited half expecting a refusal. I wouldn’t be mad. Knox did his best, gave me what he was capable of. I took it because he was my brother, and I loved him.

“I’ll be there,” he said finally. “You call me, I’ll be there.”

I smiled at him.

“I’ll call you the second she enters the world,” I said, climbing on my bike.

“You may not need to,” he quirked a brow. “She might cause an earthquake or hurricane or some shit. I’ve got a feeling she’s going to be powerful.”

I turned on my bike. “Oh, I know she’s gonna be powerful.”

AVERY

I didn’t know what to do in Kane’s absence.

Which, of course, was insane since I’d been without him for months and about thirty-five years before that. And yet…

When he left, I’d stood in the middle of the living room, Blanche sitting contentedly at my feet as I stared into space, listening to the rumble of Kane’s motorcycle and then the silence once it drove off.

To be fair, I hadn’t exactly been a productive human since I arrived in Jupiter. Yes, I’d done the research to get a reliable car, I’d negotiated the best closing deal on the house, got a sensible mortgage, homeowner’s insurance, all of those things.

Yet once I’d gotten all the relevant things with the house sorted, once Kiera had furnished and left, I was alone.

Not entirely. I was never really alone with the baby growing in my stomach. But I had free time. Oodles of it.

Which I spent adopting a dog, aimlessly walking the beach, reading baby books, researching baby products and watching reality TV.

And wallowing. Plenty of that.

None of those things seemed to be prudent any longer.

I couldn’t really wallow or long for someone who was no longer gone. Yet Kane was gone. Part of him, at least. The part that smiled easily, called me Chef with warmth and fire, who always had a cheeky glint in his eyes.

Yes, I was still longing for him. And there was the chance he’d never come back.

On that thought, I forced myself to take action.

I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, looking at the bursting interior—Kane had gone a little crazy.

And then I did something for the first time in months. I cooked.

I didn’t hear the roar of the motorcycle. Nor the opening of the door or the thump of his boots against the hardwood.

Blanche did, though, jumping up from where she was pressed against my leg where I was standing at the stove, barking to say hello to Kane.

“Quiet,” he commanded in an authoritative tone.

Blanche obeyed.

I saw him ruffling her coat out of the corner of my eye. “Can’t have you barking at anything and everything when we’ve got a baby in the house,” he muttered to Blanche.

My stirring faltered at the mention of ‘baby in the house,’ but I kept going.

Yes, I was aware that I was pregnant, buying baby things and had even seen her on various ultrasounds, but it was becoming extremely daunting—terrifying—knowing that there would be a baby in this house, reliant on me to keep her alive in less than a month.

“You’re cooking.”

“Risotto,” I replied as I glanced up. “With a basil pesto. The few plants I haven’t killed.” I nodded to the lush basil. “And focaccia. Charred chicken for protein. Nothing fancy.”

Kane regarded me. “It smells fuckin’ fancy. Truthfully, it smells like the best thing I’ve smelled in my life.”

I pursed my lips. He wasn’t being cold. He was almost being … friendly.

“Don’t speak too soon.” I returned my focus to the risotto, pouring some cream into it, knowing it was done before I even tasted it. I sprinkled fresh grated parmesan on top before taking it off the heat and seasoning it one last time.

“My taste buds have changed since being pregnant” I worked on autopilot, spooning the risotto on the two prepared plates, drizzling on the pesto then placing the chicken and more parmesan on top. “So this could very well be horrible. You are under no obligation to eat it.”

“My woman cooked risotto for me when all I’ve had is instant noodles and ground beef that may have come from a cow at some point,” Kane said, right beside me.

I didn’t jump but almost did. I’d been so consumed by plating I hadn’t noticed him move across the kitchen.

He was close. Not touching me, but our bodies were a hairsbreadth apart, his scent mixing with the basil, the cream, the sharp cheese.



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