Page 10 of Finally a Bride: Best Friend's Brother

I grab the peanut butter from the shelf, where it’s always been and then grab the container of brown sugar and the pop of the toaster makes me jump.

“What are you making?”

My back straightens at his voice and I look over my shoulder. “Peanut butter and brown sugar?”

“What?”

“PB and brown?—”

“Sugar?” His brows raise. “Is that… good?”

I smear the peanut butter across the bread and then a generous sprinkle of the brown sugar as a topping and then smoosh the second piece on top. “It’s not bad.”

“For you? Yes, it is.”

I laugh. I hold it out for him to take a bite. “Try it.”

He tips his head and looks back to see that the trash can is where it always was.

“McCabe Weston, it’s not bad. Trust me?”

His face softens. “Do you trust me, Ella?”

The words settle into me like they’re a drug to raise my blood pressure.

I want to. I want to trust someone, but I’ve built love to sit on this pedestal, atop the throne and I’m only a peasant to be constantly serving others but never getting my share of the treasure that love is.

“Yes,” I say, staring into those emerald eyes that glimmer like the gemstone.

He leans down and takes a bite, the warm peanut butter overflows onto my finger and watch as his tongue flicks to catch the drip off my thumb. The softness of his tongue against my body sends a slow roll of chill down my spine and my mouth opens to a pant.

He chews slowly. “That is… an acquired taste.”

I take a bite and the creamy and sweet blend. His hand slides down my arms and behind my back, stepping closer.

Every teenage dream I ever had about McCabe Weston is quickly coming true. It’s like I’m fourteen again, watching him, the eighteen almost nineteen-year-old, strutting around the house in his boxers being told to put on his pants by his father. And hoping that the boxers might just fall off.

His head lowers and I raise to the balls of my feet. My heart pounds so loudly that I don’t hear the door to the kitchen push open.

The throat clears and McCabe steps back like I’m a bomb and I’ve just gone off.

“Sorry, Ella.”

And he’s out the back door.

Mrs. Weston stops in her tracks. “Ella? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I… I was just making a sandwich, I haven’t eaten something all day.”

“Honey, you know you are welcome to anything we have.”

Oh, Mrs. Weston, you shouldn’t say that because what I want, I probably can’t have. Or at least have forever.

“Thanks. Mallory is getting some sleep.”

“Did you see this coming?” she asks softly.

“No. I had dinner with them last week and everything seemed fine.”

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