Page 42 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice
“Everyone is super nice, here. I couldn’t go a week in LA without getting screamed at by a director, co-star, or paparazzi. It’s relaxing to be away from people who freak out after recognizing me, or the obligation to only go out with a full face of makeup and styled to the nines.”
“Oh, Kieran freaked out plenty, though.”
“But I don’t have fans running toward me whenever I leave my home, demanding selfies,” I point out. He nods in understanding, and I brush past him to get out two bowls and spoons. “I’m finally living for myself again and it’s … freeing. I really needed that.”
“I’m glad,” he whispers as I scoop out the ice cream then take the spoon I used into my mouth and hand him his bowl. “You’ve got some …” He gestures to my cheek, and I instinctively reach up to wipe it away.
“Didn’t get it,” he says gently. “May I?”
I nod, maybe too quickly, and he immediately steps closer, brushing his thumb lightly across my skin.
Icecream. Of course. Because nothing sayscool, calm, and collectedlike dessert on your face.
Then he lifts his thumb to his mouth and licks it clean, and my eyes follow the movement on instinct, shameless and quicker than my self-control.
My cheeks heat up instantly. I’m pretty sure my heart forgets how to beat at a normal pace.
And he doesn’t step back.
No, he leans in even more, a small smile tugging at his lips as his hands come up to gently cradle my face.
Everything stills. I forget how to breathe. How to think.
“I’m not imagining this, am I?” he whispers, his eyes darting over my face with an intensity as though he’s trying to remember every single detail.
“Hell no. I mean, you’re not.” A faint giggle slips out before I can stop it, and I put my hands on his hips, the soft fabric of his sweatshirt resting under my palms. He crowds me against the kitchen island until a sheet of paper couldn’t fit between the two of us.
“I don’t want to rush you.” His eyes dart from my lips to my eyes, searching for an answer to a question only he knows in my face. “With your ex, and—”
“Could you please not talk about my ex in a situation like this?” I press my lips together, but a grin is already creeping across my face. “I don’t give a fuck about him. But I think I give one hell of a fuck about you.” His hands are now on the kitchen island right behind my back, caging me in. “I can’t promise being with me will be easy. I’ve been told I’m high maintenance, talk too much,amtoo much.”
I pull back just enough to breathe, when one of his hands wanders to my waist, warm and grounding. Calming. Even if nervousness craws over my skin as if I’ve stepped out onto a ledge and haven’t dared peeking down the abyss yet.
“I want this,” I admit softly, Lauren’s words echoing in my head. “I do. Ireallydo. I’m just …” I exhale, trying to untangle the knot in my chest. “There’s still some leftover debris. From before.”
His brow furrows gently. “Debris?”
“Yeah. You know—emotional wreckage. Post-cheating storm damage. You know, trust issues with a side of flinching anytime someone’s phone buzzes after midnight.”
He doesn’t laugh, and I’m glad. He nods, eyes steady on mine. “That makes sense.”
“And I don’t want to bring it into this. Into what could be an ‘us.’” I shrug one shoulder, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “But I probably will sometimes. Not on purpose. But … out of habit, maybe.”
“Then we’ll break the habit. Together.”
God, this guy.
“I might need you to tell me more than once that you’re not like him,” I admit. “And I might not always believe it right away.”
“I’ll keep telling you anyway.”
There’s something in his voice—low and even, not performative. He’s not trying to be a hero. He’s just here. With me. Trying to assure me that he’s all in. That he’s got me.
I swallow hard. “Okay. So, if I completely panic out of nowhere one night and ask you weird, slightly invasive questions like ‘why did your ex break up with you,’ or ‘who’s Amanda in your phone?’ you’ll … what? Not run?”
“I’ll probably tell you about how I put my arm up one of her cow’s asses, hand you my phone, and ask if you want coffee or wine while you read through my messages. I have nothing to hide, Nic.”
I huff out a laugh, eyes stinging the tiniest bit. “You’re either incredibly patient or mildly unhinged.”
