Page 10 of Impressing Brett

I sigh.

Finally, he shoves off the edge of the counter. He strokes a hand gently down the back of my wet hair before turning toward the refrigerator. “What would you like to drink, Little lamb? Apple juice? Milk? Water?”

I haven’t had any of those in years. What grown adult keeps things like that in their house? I’m starting to love the way he calls me Little lamb, and that’s dangerous.

I’m probably vulnerable, and it’s affecting my judgment. Plus, I’m saying things I should not say.

Brett pulls out the apple juice and holds it up, giving it a little shake.

“Yes, please,” I murmur.

He opens a cabinet and quickly grabs a pink tumbler before shutting it. I swear it was filled with other pink and pastel plastic dishes. Maybe he has nieces or something who come over.

He pours some juice and sets it in front of me before climbing onto the stool next to me and pointing at my food. “Eat, Little lamb.”

“So bossy,” I grumble as I lift the spoon and blow on the hot soup.

He chuckles. “I’m bossy, and I use all the oxygen, huh?”

“Yep.” I might as well own those statements. They are out there.

It turns out I’m starving, and even my embarrassment doesn’t stop me from eating every bite and downing the juice.

“Would you like some water, too?” he asks next.

“No. I’m good. Thank you. That was perfect. I probably would’ve just dropped into bed and skipped eating,” I admit.

He’s staring at me contemplatively. I wonder what he’s thinking. I have no idea. “Seems like you need a keeper,” he finally states. “There are bags under your eyes. You haven’t been sleeping. You’re not eating enough. You’ve lost weight.”

He can tell that? I glance down at myself. Do I look skinnier? I hadn’t thought about it, but he’s probably right.

“I’ve been dealing with a lot.”

He takes my dishes to the sink, rinses them, and tucks them all in the dishwasher while I watch. I should offer to help, but it seems like I wouldn’t be able to do it to his standards anyway.

When he returns, he surprises me by lifting me off the stool with his hands at my waist and setting me on the floor.

I gasp.

He makes it seem like no big deal. Isn’t it, though? Who does that?

When he takes my hand and leads me from the kitchen, turning off the lights on our way, I readily follow. It’s like I’m in a trance. A Brett trance. He’s probably made me lightheaded from using up the oxygen.

I giggle at the thought and then realize once again I shouldn’t have.

Shit.

He glances at me. “What’s funny now, Little lamb?”

“Nothing,” I repeat.

He chuckles and keeps walking. “I’ll give you this one pass, but that’s it. Just the one.”

“Or what?” I ask before I can stop myself. Who am I?

This time he groans. “Little lamb…”

I feel like a little lamb. I feel cherished. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt cherished. Twenty years. Not since my mother was alive. I don’t care that it’s weird and I hardly know Brett. I’m going to soak up this time with him and remember it because it feels good.

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