Page 28 of One Hot Moment

"So is mine. Kendall was a stripper, after all."

"You don't understand. My parents grew up in a hippie commune, and I spent most of my childhood going to various protests. Save the whales, save the trees, save the endangered San Bruno elfin butterfly. I'm all for sparing the lives of any type of animal---well, except for pythons which creep me out---but I would've preferred to go to a rock concert with my friends. Now I'm too old for that."

"You're thirty-six years old. That isn't ancient."

"I know that. And I love my family. They instilled in me the free-spirited lifestyle that I still enjoy, though not to the degree my family does."

Spencer studies me for a moment. "How often do you visit your family?"

"As often as I can. Like I told you, I'm not embarrassed by the way they live. I just grew out of most of it. My parents are good people. They might not be hippies living in a commune anymore, but they still prefer to maintain an unconventional way of life."

He keeps on studying me, as if I'm a strange new variety of jellyfish. "You haven't wanted to tell me about your family until tonight. If you worry I won't approve of their lifestyle, you should have realized by now that I would never criticize you or your family."

I poke at the crème brûlée as an excuse not to look him in the eye. Why am I acting like I'm ashamed of how my parents live? It's not that bizarre. Suck it up, woman, and tell him. "My parents live just outside the city limits of Asheville---in their own little tiny-house village."

"A tiny village doesn't sound strange. What's the name of the small town?"

"No, you don't understand. I phrased it wrong." I straighten and gaze directly into his eyes. "My parents live in a tiny house. So does my sister. The one I used to live in is still there too. When I say 'tiny house,' that's the most accurate description. Haven't you ever heard of the tiny-house movement?"

"No, I can't say I have."

"My parents and my sister live in houses that measure about three hundred square feet apiece."

Spencer stops blinking. "Oh. That is tiny."

Time to test his mettle. "Would you like to see their houses sometime?"

Chapter Thirteen

Spencer

Tabitha must expect me to balk at the prospect of visiting her family's tiny-home village. Maybe two houses don't qualify as a village, but I'm not sure what else to call it. Do I care that her family enjoys an unconventional lifestyle? Of course not. Tabitha ought to have figured out by now that I'm not easily shocked. I gawped at her a moment ago only because I was having trouble envisioning what a tiny home might look like.

Three hundred square feet? Sounds like a fairy house.

I reach across the table to grasp Tabitha's hand. "Yes, love, I would like to meet your family and see those tiny houses."

"Are you sure? My parents might have abandoned the commune lifestyle, but they're still tree huggers and toad kissers."

"Toad kissers?" I say with a chuckle. " 'Tree huggers' is a term I've heard before, but never has anyone used the term toad kissers in my presence. Is it in the dictionary?"

"I think you know it isn't. My parents came up with that phrase." She settles her hand atop mine. "If you come to Asheville with me, Mom and Dad can explain the toad thing for you."

"Are you still trying to convince me not to meet your family? My parents and siblings aren't average people either." I lift our joined hands to kiss the back of her hand. "Remember, my brother was a stripper and my sister knits possum sweaters. I'm sure our families will mesh perfectly."

She gazes at me as if I've conjured a galaxy of stars just for her, right here in this restaurant. "The crème brûlée is getting cold."

"Is it? I was distracted by your glowing beauty."

"Cut the crap, Spence, and feed me."

I grab a spoon and ladle a mouthful of crème brûlée onto it. Tabitha parts her lips. I slide the spoon onto her tongue. She closes her lips around it and moans as I slowly pull the spoon free. "Mm, that's orgasmically good."

Her throaty tone proves that point---and rouses my cock. I cough into my fist.

Tabitha licks her lips and smiles. "Time to feed you, Spence."

Her use of my nickname somehow makes her behavior even more sensual. I'm helpless to resist her, leaning forward so she can slide a spoonful of crème brûlée onto my tongue. She doesn't pull the spoon away until I close my lips around it. Then she retracts it so gradually that I taste every minute element of the dessert---Chantilly, cardamom, ginger, and molasses.

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