Page 27 of Our Little Cliche
CYRUS
“Thanks by the way,”Holly says after a while of silence eating our lunch. I don’t know if it’s a passion, or a fetish to be this happy seeing her eating my food, but whatever this feeling is, I want it again, and again. I know she feels what I do, I’m certain of it.
She’s so god damn fucking adorable.
“For what?”
“Listening, and definitely for this. This is… better than any thesaurus could put.” There is not a single crumb or drop of soup left in her bowl. She had mentioned that she hadn’t eaten, and I felt a sense of sorrow. I will never allow her to go hungry, cold, thirsty or scared. Not on my watch. When she smiles her eyes glow with warmth, like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders. To see her any other way is a tragedy.
“It’s my pleasure.” My voice is once again too low. I can tell this because of the way she reacts to it when I speak like that. Her cheeks appear more flushed, and she keeps squirming, trying to hide the fact that the tension between us is causing her to react like that.
Lotsof tension.
Holly pushes her empty bowl aside and I stand to collect it, and mine with the intention of putting them all in the dishwasher, but my brain has other ideas. In one swift movement my body is but a breath away from her succulent peachy lips.
I should not have done that.
She gasps from the abrupt movement but doesn’t shift away. My jaw clenches trying to hold myself together from seeing her arching back against the counter… her breasts becoming more prominent. A pair of bright blue eyes dance between mine with a labored breath, screamingkiss me.
“I want…”You.I linger at her breath, relief hounding at my chest seeing her lips waiting eagerly for contact. I’m not imagining things, shedoeswant me. But, for some reason—my moral compass, probably—I cut the idea before it begins. “I want to just… take this,” and grab her empty bowl. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
It takes a moment for Holly to un-stick herself from her trance, slowly sliding her way off the stool and meeting the ground in a way that makes it look like her legs are completely feeble. Euphoria boils under my skin just from knowing the way I’ve just made her feel.
Oh, my sweet angel, if only you knew how easily I could really make those legs weak.
Holly seems to take a lot of interest in my crafting room where I do all my woodwork. “There’s so much stuff in here.”
“Well, it’s where I live usually. I’ve been tinkering since I was a baby. I’d sit by my father on this table right here,” I tap on the scuffed timber bench my grandfather milled, “for hours on end. We’ve made some pretty amazing things over the years.” My heart sinks briefly. I miss them so much, life just isn’t the same without them.
“You don’t do much anymore, do you? Other than to make awesome pen holders.”
“No. Not since I’ve becomethisauthor. I haven’t even been able to make the statue for the Christmas Market. A tradition that our family has done for generations. Nowadays I need to be in too many places at once. That’s why you’re here.”
“Oh, yeah. About that.” She drops her head. “You don’t mind if I don’t move in just yet, do you? I’ve only just moved here and… I don’t know you yet, and?—”
Unease makes a bed in my body. She’ll have nothing to eat if she doesn’t stay here. Her house will be cold. “Miss Cate, of course I don’t mind. Whatever makes you comfortable. I don’t know how long I can keep Quinn off my ass buying an Uber everyday, though. But I’ll do my best.”
“It won’t be for long. At least until I get my head around all… this.”
“I understand. What will your plans be for the rest of the evening since we’re slacking off until tomorrow?” I ask, stopping to close the workshop door.
“Nothing. Probably stare at a blank wall, counting how many flakes of snow are on my porch, and listen to the ambiance of a rumbling tummy. What about you?”
“Absolutely not,” I snap, grabbing her coat from the hook by the front door, “I will not have you starving on my watch. Come, I’ll take you.”
“But I don’t have any money.”
“Who said you were paying?”
Her eyes widen. “You would do that?”
“I think any sane human would, don’t you?”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to keep apologizing.” I fight every muscle in my body to not plant my hand on her cheek, and tell her that she has nothing to be sorry for with me.
“Sorr—”
