Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“Wes,” she chides me, leaning on the kitchen counter, scrolling through recipes on her tablet. “You can’t pick them all.”
I drop a kiss to her neck. “Just like I want to fuck you in every way possible, I want all of these too.”
She shivers, then shakes it off, all business again. “Pick three then. Will that be enough for you?” She glances at the kitchen clock. “I don’t even know if we can get the ingredients in time.”
“Of course we can,” I say, then steal another kiss.
It’s still Monday night but since Christmas is in two days, we need to get moving on this project. I tear myself away from kissing her to check out the tablet again, and I study the recipes.
“Do you need me to turn on the text-to-speech?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nah. Recipes are easy enough. The way they’re laid out and all. I love bullet points,” I say, but then my mind whirs in another direction. “But you could always read me something dirty. I’d happily listen to that.”
She gives me the flirtiest look ever, then says in a husky purr: “Add peanut butter, softened butter, granulated sugar, light brown sugar, and salt to the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment or a large bowl if using a hand mixer. Beat on medium speed until creamed well.”
And I can’t pick right now. I yank off her leggings, lift her onto a stool, and help myself to her. After she comes on my face five minutes later, I stand, wipe my hand across my mouth and say, “Peanut Butter Blossoms.” Then I add, “Also, shortbread, because you only live once, and snowball cookies.”
After we clean up, we hightail it to the grocery store.
When we get home, we go for another round. What can I say? Gotta make up for those few days without her. After, when we’re lying in bed, I address the big thing—the thing I’ve been wanting to say for a long time. I turn to Josie. Her skin is still glowing, and her lips are still bee-stung as she slides her glasses back on.
I didn’t ask before. But I’m ready now. “Would you stay?”
A smile teases the corner of her lips. “What do you mean, Wes?” It’s said teasingly—like she doesn’t know what I mean, when she does.
I don’t play games though. I don’t beat around the bush. “Here. In San Francisco. With me,” I say, strong and certain. “Look, I know you’re going to get that job you interviewed for today. I have no doubts.”
“It would be a great job,” she says, sounding so hopeful. I love that she’s not playing it cool. That she’s allowed herself to want.
“Stay then. Whatever happens in January. If you turn down that job, stay. You can look for other jobs from here as easily as any place else. Stay.” I say that beautiful word one more time.
She smiles like a little minx. “Well, I was going to move in with Everly.”
My jaw comes unhinged. “What did you just say, woman?”
“We discussed it on Sunday. Before you got your act together.”
I stab the pillow with my forefinger. “My act is together now. I want you here. And you can’t pretend we’re anything but excellent at living together.”
“We are pretty good at it,” she says playfully, still keeping me on my toes.
I kiss her shoulder, then layer a path of more kisses up to her ear, trying to convince her with my lips. But then, I have a better idea. A fail-safe way to get her to say yes. I stop the path of kisses, and meet her gaze. “We can even turn your room under the staircase into a library.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Can I have a ladder in it?”
“You can have anything you want.”
“Sold!”
In the morning, we do our favorite things.
Fuck.
Then, bake.
The kitchen is a mess of flour and chocolate and cookie dough, and a gorgeous, smart, feisty woman who somehow is willing to put up with me. That’s the real holiday miracle. After she slides the last tray into the oven, then swipes her hands over the cake drawings on her apron, I haul her against me for another kiss.
“Mmm. You taste like sugar,” I say.
“Then you must really like my lips.”
“I love them,” I murmur. “And you.”
When I break the kiss, I scan the kitchen and the mess. There are measuring cups, bowls, and flour for miles. “This will take a while to clean up. Why don’t you lie down with a good book and read and I’ll clean?”
She arches a brow. “Are you even real?”
I smile like a cocky fucker. Yep. I know how to take care of my woman. “I am. And you deserve some time to read.” But there’s another reason at play. And since it’s the season for being honest, I say, “And I need to call my dad.”