Page 49 of Go Cook Yourself

My parents turn to walk into the house, so they miss the wince on Garett’s face and the hunch of his shoulders. I don't know why family is a bad word for him. I’m going to find out, though, because whether he likes it or not, with the dognapping and caring for my sister and me, my family has no intention of letting go of him.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Ruby

My parents and Cookie are safe in their house. Cookie sniffed every bush and flower in their garden before falling asleep on Garett’s lap. It took a bit of cajoling, but soon, he was in the bed that Garett had brought. He didn’t want to leave the garden, which Garett said was understandable after months trapped in a flat. My parent’s garden is big enough for the old cookery school and a whole host of equipment to entertain three kids and their friends. I wanted to stay out there, too, and reminisce over the swingset that Jem and I would fight over while Amber rolled her eyes and the monkey bars that I spent my summers building my strength to cross while Grandma and Grandad cheered me on.

“We did it. I can’t believe we got him safely away and that he’s happy and mine again,” Garett exclaims. His grin is unrelenting.

We’re at the pub down the road from my parent’s house. Garett wanted to stay nearby for a couple of hours in case Cookie needed him. His worry that we might have been followed is ludicrous, but maybe his ex is like that.

“He loved seeing his toys again,” I reply, deep in thought, as I stare at the curl falling onto Garett’s forehead. His leg bounces against mine and jostles the table.

“He did. He loved chasing that squeaky egg around your parents’ house.” Garett wriggles in his seat like he’s drunk fifteen espressos. “When I was forced to leave him, I took a couple of cuddly toys and his special squeaky egg. He still had some, but I wanted something to remind me of him.”

“You’re not the person I thought you were the day I met you.”

“I was an arsehole. You can say it. I was having an awful day, and I took it out on you,” he confesses. “But I owe you big. I owe all your family.”

I shrug, but he grabs my hand.

“Seriously, Rubes. I won’t forget this.” Warmth spreads from his skin to mine, and tingles move up my limbs. “But while I decide how to repay you, I need you to say that I was a dick.”

“You were a dick,” I repeat half-heartedly.

“Not like that. I need you to say it like you mean it. Repeat after me: Garett Kelsey, you were a dick.”

I smile even as I stare him dead in the eyes and say clearly, “You, Garett Kelsey, were the biggest dick I’ve ever met, and you’re lucky I still talk to you, let alone helped you tonight.”

He chuckles in a way that fills my belly with sparkles of joy. “You enjoyed that too much.”

I tip my head and wink. “I don’t know what you mean, but I have forgiven you for that day, not that you deserve my forgiveness.”

“Whoa.” His face is animated as his mouth drops, and his thumb rubs my palm like I’m a bit of dough for him to play with. “I’ve worked really hard to get you to like me. Remember that lasagne and the baking and how I helped you out with your ex?”

I don’t know if it’s the way he’s stroking my hand or the reminder of how he helped me out with his lips on my skin. Maybe the guilt I’ve carried for years for mistreating my family is ebbing. I’m a little dizzy, but that could be from the rescue. Isuck on my lower lip before answering. “No. I don’t. You’re going to have to remind me about that.”

His chest rises and falls, and his voice lowers as he teases, “You don’t remember?”

The pub is quiet, and we’re in two chairs next to each other in the corner. A lamp accentuates the change from delight to burning heat across his face. I rasp my reply, “No, not at all.”

“Do you want me to remind you?”

More than I want a strawberry and white chocolate cupcake, and I’d love one of those right now. Instead, I reply, “Maybe.”

The adrenaline fuelling my body from the anxiety of the mission to the fear of seeing my family has turned into something electric.

Garett’s finger grazing my hand escalates the charge. “But if it wasn’t that memorable before, maybe I’m just not good at helping people taunt their exes.”

“Practice might help.” I swallow as he fixes me with his stare.

“It’s helping with your baking. Your hands are nearly as good as mine.” I shiver as one of his hands cups my face. The pads of his fingers are rough against my skin. My tongue peeks out to lick my lips, and he tracks my movements. Although we’re sitting, he crowds me with his body.

Cinnamon combines with the smoke from the burning logs in the nearby fireplace. His thumb traces my lip, leaving his ownership on it. I close my eyes, imagining his stubble against my skin as he leans in.

His lips are soft. At his gentle touch, I press closer for more. His hands reach into my hair as we make out. His eyelashes flutter against my skin like little butterflies. I tease his lips apart with my tongue and kiss him with the pent-up energy I’ve carried all evening. It’s passionate yet careful. My tongue explores his mouth as he massages mine. I moan into him. Hekisses me harder. There’s some kind of rush in my belly, like need and hope combining to drive me further into his embrace.

I run my hands across his arms and then to his lap. His body is rigid. My fingers dance across his thighs. I want to trace his entire body, and I would if we weren’t in public. I’m grinding my body into the chair as if it’s him beneath me. Electricity flows through my limbs, and there’s no expectation to push it further, although if we were anywhere else, I’d be straddling him. I’m revelling in his brief touches and the taste of the hot chocolate he’s drinking in this pub. Heat pools between my thighs, and I battle against the desire coursing through me that demands more. I moan again, louder this time.

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