Page 21 of Sugar Pie
I brushed my shoulders and nodded. He was right—we would help each other. I gazed into his eyes. “Well, I have a feeling you’re going to be successful. And I’m here to help.”
We made it to the register, and I glanced at his license, catching the name Norouzi.
“You’ll be great, Kerry. It’s why I asked for your help. I have a good feeling about you.”
His last name was vaguely familiar, but I brushed it off. It would have been rude to mention I’d read over his shoulder. “That’s one of us, then. I can only hope you’re right.”
He took the bags from me to carry. On our way out, he said, “Step one is believing in yourself. Everything else happens fast.”
When we made it to the truck, he opened my door for me, and I didn’t argue.
A country song played about trusting after being hurt, and I listened as goose bumps grew on my arms. I’d never once thought I would go near another man, but Warren was nothing like Romeo.
As we parked, I glanced up at him. He was sexy and muscular and made me feel safe. We walked up the stairs then slipped into the small apartment. As he closed the door, he said, “We’re home.”
I patted his shoulder like we were still just friends. “We are. I’ll heat up dinner.”
He shook his head and cut me off. “Thank you. I want to set up the computer, but afterwards, we can talk about my skills and the sites I’m using to book myself some jobs.”
Right. Work.We were a team, and I wasn’t only a cook and cleaner in my house. I smiled. “Sounds perfect.”
However, as I opened the box and glanced at Warren in the kitchen, I wished my life was different and free because I wondered what his kiss might taste like.
8
Kerry
Warren went to work, and I scheduled jobs for the month. I also created a Facebook page and found YouTube tutorials that walked me through how to build a website. A website was like a business card, so he needed one so his—our—business could build a presence, but I needed to build up some skills first.
I wrote out my schedule, as there was too much to do in a day. The action plan for the week took shape, and the morning dissipated fast. As lunch approached, I left the scrap of paper with my doodles under the laptop to grab first thing in the morning.
Then I finished my carafe of coffee and stood as I heard the door unlock. My lips curved upwards as I saw his broad shoulders in the doorway. “You’re home early.”
He nodded and smiled as he closed the door behind him. “I finished all the jobs before lunch. I couldn’t wait to get back here.”
My heart thundered that he’d wanted to be with me. The sense was new, and I laughed it off as I pointed at our bare walls. “To our palace.”
He left his shoes and came toward me. “I’d build you a palace.”
The nicer the home, the bigger the prison, and it hit me that maybe I shouldn’t let myself get comfortable. “I’m sure you could. In this dream, I want a huge galley kitchen with tons of cabinets and ovens for specific purposes.”
He laughed. “Sounds good. I would want my wife and children to be home and secure.”
My entire body stilled. For one second, I imagined him coming home to a nicer house and me with two children at my feet, coloring and laughing in the kitchen. I blinked, and the image disappeared, but I folded my hands around myself. “You want a wife and children?”
He shrugged. “At least two. I can’t imagine what growing up alone is like.”
I cringed. It was as if he saw straight to my core and how empty my life was. “It sucks. No one spoke to me.”
He took my hand, and sparks flew. “Ouch. We had a large home growing up, but when we stayed in our Manhattan home, we were all piled into an apartment and practically tripping over each other all the time.”
His family was everything to him. I sighed. “Sounds heavenly.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t hear Jeff snoring.”
I took my hand back. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“The walls shake. If he ever does get married, I feel for his future wife.”
