Page 27 of Embers in Autumn
My stomach dropped, butterflies and nerves colliding.
Amber:I meant more pie.
Dean:I didn’t.
I set the phone down for a second, breathing in deep, then picked it up again.
Amber:You’re trouble.
Dean:You have no idea. Last night I left before I did half the things I wanted to do.
My pulse thudded.
Amber:Half? That’s a lot of restraint.
Dean:You have no idea. The way you looked, the way you tasted. Do you have any idea what it did to me not to take you against that counter?
I gasped, the kitchen suddenly too warm.
Amber:…Dean.
Dean:What? You think I didn’t notice the way you melted against me? The way you tugged my hair like you wanted me closer?
I dropped the phone to the table, pressing my palms to my cheeks. God. This was spiraling. But the buzz came again.
Dean:I keep thinking about your lips. How soft they were. How they’d feel around…
I slammed the phone face down, heart racing. My whole body felt flushed, tingling, restless. I pushed my chair back and stalked toward the bathroom, muttering under my breath.
Cold shower. I needed a very, very cold shower.
Steam curled off the bathroom mirror as I wrapped myself in a towel, my skin still prickling from the cold water. My head felt clearer, but when I picked up my phone again, the clarity vanished in an instant.
Three more messages waited.
Dean:Still thinking about that kiss. And how much better it’s going to be when I don’t have to stop.
My breath caught, but the last one softened the heat that burned through me.
Dean:Want to go for a walk with me today? Fresh air. Just us.
My lips curved before I could stop them. The man had a way of throwing me completely off balance. From toe-curling spice to simple sweetness in a matter of seconds.
Amber:A walk sounds good.
He didn’t leave me hanging long.
Dean:I’ll pick you up in twenty.
I dressed quickly, choosing something comfortable but presentable, a soft sweater and jeans, then padded downstairs just as his truck pulled up. The sight of him climbing out made my pulse skip. Casual clothes, hair still damp from a shower, smile warm as autumn sun.
“Ready?” he asked, opening the passenger door for me.
The ride was easy, filled with little silences that felt natural, not forced. By the time we parked by the town’s park entrance, the leaves above us blazed gold and red, drifting down in lazy spirals.
Vendors lined the path, the air rich with roasted nuts, cider, and sugar. My stomach growled at the scent of warm dough.
Dean caught it, grinning. “Pretzel?”
