Page 81 of Make Mine Sweet
The thought comes crystal clear—I don’t want her to thank me for any of those things. I want them to be a normal part of our days, not something she thinks she owes me for. I’m not sure where the thought comes from since I’ve never had that with anyone before. But she makes me want to try.
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s my pleasure, Tess.”
She rests her hands on either side of her hips on the counter behind her. “It’s nice to have it be more than just August and me. We’re used to communal living, since we were with my mom and sister for so long.”
She winces, as if wishing she hadn’t revealed that.
“What’s that face for?” I ask.
“It’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? Living with my family at my age.”
I tilt my head closer. “You’re not that old.”
A wicked smile touches her mouth. “True. Compared to some people.”
Tease me about my age all you want, angel.
“Living with family is nothing to be ashamed of. Some people do it to save money, some people’s parents need their help. Sometimes it’s just the cultural norm. It doesn’t mean you’re somehow failing.”
“Thanks.” That soft word is barely a whisper. Once again, she’s thanking me for something I want to do naturally.
“And you’re here now,” I say to lighten this pressing, aching sensation under my ribs. “You’ve got your own place, even if the neighbors are less than desirable.”
“Aw. My neighbor’s not so bad. Even if he could stand to smile a little more.”
I mirror her pose, resting my hands on the counter behind us, letting my pinky and ring finger drape over hers. I have never been a man to think much about something as simple as touching fingers, but with Tess, that contact is a bright spotlight drawing all my attention.
“I think he has new reasons to smile,” I tell her.
She holds my gaze, letting the moment drag out. The urge to lean in becomes a tangible thing, like a hand on my back pressing me closer. The need to kiss her and let my fantasies melt into a perfect reality overwhelms. But with Tess, it’s more important for me to get thingsrightthan to get themnow. I can be patient.
I think I can, anyway. I’ve never really tried before.
“Look at this!” August runs into the kitchen, paper in hand.
Tess shifts away just enough to break our small connection. In the grand scheme of things, a touch is nothing. Insignificant. But that one? I’ll carry it around with me for days.
He shows us a crayon drawing of a jack-o-lantern with green and yellow things coming out of the top. “It’s a pumpkin-cucumber-banana fruit!”
“I love it, buddy,” Tess says. “It’s getting late, though. Are you ready for stories?”
He slumps a bit, as if he doesn’t appreciate this news. “Can Ian read me my stories tonight?”
They both turn to look at me. It should be obvious to Tess I’ve never been asked to read anyone their bedtime stories before. Is the little glow of pride that he’d even ask me just as obvious?
“I don’t know,” Tess hedges. “Ian might be getting tired?—”
“That’s it. August, grab your books.” I shift Tess around so she’s facing me, then bend over and notch her waist at my shoulder. I straighten, lifting her in the air, and I’m not sure who shrieks louder, her or August. I march her into the living room, one hand on her thigh, the other at her hip on my shoulder, searing the feel of her into my synapses.
Her hands on my back are just the icing on the cake.
When I deposit her on the couch, she lands with a softoomph. Her cheeks are rosy, but her mouth’s still open, indignant.
“I gave you fair warning.” I drop onto the cushion next to her.
“I will remember the magic word,” she finally says.
She doesn’t specify that she won’t use it again. Good.
