Page 131 of Dallas

“Not even throw pillows?”

He looked back at Poppy, sitting between the racks of desserts, gazing at him and wagging her tail. “Sam, she can chew up one throw pillow a day for the rest of her life and I’ll give thanks for every damn fluff of cotton I sweep off of my floor, and do you know why?”

“Why?” she asked, smiling that sweet, special smile.

“Because it’ll mean you’re there. And I would rather have you and a little chaos than a clean but empty house.”

She leaned over and kissed him. “Now I know you love me.”

“More than anything, Sam. More than anything.”

Her grin turned wicked. “Enough to let me make a cherpumple for our wedding?”

“No.”

“A true representation of blending lives by blending desserts.”

“Sam, I have my limits.”

“Come on, baby,” she wiggled her brows, her voice getting breathy. “Blend desserts with me, you dirty pastry-mixing boy.”

“When you put it that way,” he said, “it sounds kind of hot.”

“Just wait. I have even better ideas for mixing butter cream frosting and...skin.”

“Well, hell.” He sat up straighter, arousal pulsing through him. “If that’s what I get for letting you experiment, you can have a wedding cherpumpleanda wedding turducken for all I care.”

She smiled, and his heart melted. “Stick with me, baby, and it’ll be a fun ride.”

“It always has been. And I’m sure it always will be.”

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