Page 73 of Suck My Puck

No one’s ever said that to me before. That my dad should treat me better. That I deserve better.

I lean in and kiss her. It’s soft and sweet and gentle. She moves her mouth slowly against mine, like she can sense this is what I need.

When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers for a moment. She cuddles next to me, slinking her arms around my waist. I wrap my arm around her and pull her close.

I turn my head to the side and bury my nose in her hair, inhaling the delicate sweetness of her scent.

“I know we were going to mess around, but…can we just do this tonight?” I ask.

She leans back to look at me. The sweetest, softest, mostbeautiful smile appears on her face. “Of course. I’m here for you, Braden.”

Warmth courses through me. My heart thuds in my chest. My lungs feel tight, and for a split second, it’s hard to breathe.

It takes a moment for me to realize why I feel this way. But I eventually I do.

It’s Bella.

I’m overwhelmed with the way she’s making me feel right now. Safe. Comforted. Wanted. Like I matter.

Her arms tighten around me. “Is this okay?” she asks, her voice quiet.

I kiss the top of her head. “This is perfect.”

Chapter 26

Bella

“Bella, darling. This is the single best cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

I smile at Ingrid’s mom as we stand in the kitchen of her massive luxury home just outside of Denver. A dozen of her friends mill around her gourmet kitchen and dining area, sipping the samples of coffee I prepared for the morning coffee taster I’m hosting for them.

Four glass carafes sit on the marble counter in the kitchen. Each one is a different roast and blend.

I beam at her. “Oh wow, thank you, Mrs. Thompson. I’m so happy you like it.”

She waves a hand. “Goodness, no more calling me Mrs. Thompson. I feel so old when my daughter’s friends do that.” She chuckles and pats my hand. “Please call me Amy.”

Never in a million years would I call Ingrid’s mom old. She could pass for Ingrid’s older sister. She has the same long blonde hair, perfect skin, and bright blue eyes as Ingrid.

I smile at her. “Thank you, Amy. You’re so kind.”

“I’m serious. Your coffee is so delicious. It tastes so much richer and deeper than all the other coffee I’ve had.”

“I’m kind of a snob when it comes to coffee. I like to roast the beans myself. That way I can control the depth of flavor,” I say.

“Do you have to have a commercial-grade roaster to do that?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No, I just do it in my oven with a regular sheet pan on parchment paper. It’s so easy. You just have to keep an eye on the beans while they roast and pay attention to when they crack. If you want a lighter roast, you wait until they crack once. If you want a darker roast, you roast it until it cracks a second time.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.” Amy shakes her head, then chuckles. “I’m terrible in the kitchen. Just ask my husband.”

“Your daughter would also agree,” Ingrid says as she walks into the kitchen, coffee cup in hand.

Amy rolls her eyes good-naturedly right as Ingrid pulls her mom into a side hug and kisses her cheek.

“I’m kidding, Mom.”

“No, you’re not.” Amy laughs. “It’s okay though. I know how bad I am in the kitchen. Thank goodness your father knows how to cook.”

---