Page 136 of Scandalous Contract
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
STEFANIE
––––––––
BEFORE I COULD TELLJulian how I felt about him, I needed to talk to his mother. There was no point in starting something that would be derailed the moment she learned he and I were together.
I pushed that thought aside, not wanting to dwell on it at the moment. Julian returned to the table with coffee in the mug he’d gotten me, my new favorite mug. I couldn’t help but tell him that.
“That’s my favorite mug now, you know?” I admitted.
His smile was so damn adorable.
“Is it?” He set the mug in front of me. “I thought you’d like it.”
I watched him move to the refrigerator and return with a bottle of salted caramel creamer.
“Tell me when to stop,” he said, and began pouring it into my coffee.
“Stop,” I said after a few seconds.
“Be right back with the spoon.”
“You know I can help out, right?”
“I don’t need help,” he called out as he grabbed a spoon from the correct drawer and rinsed it off. He handed it to me, and I used it to stir my coffee before giving it back to him.
“Thank you, Julian.”
“You welcome,” he said before rinsing the spoon off and putting it in the drying rack.
This had to be a dream. I mean, no man was this perfect.Good sex, good manners, and good conversation.I should pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.Ouch!I wasn’t dreaming.
I watched as he prepared his plate and coffee, then came to sit next to me at the table. He started eating, and I knew I should be eating also, but I couldn’t help but watch him. I wanted to bring up the luggage in my bedroom, and the way he was just settling into my home.
I decided to eat first and talk later. The chicken was cooked perfectly, and the waffles were nice and fluffy. The food was great. I took another bite of the perfectly crispy chicken, savoring the blend of spices that danced on my tongue.
Julian's cooking was as impressive as his other talents, and I found myself smiling at the thought. He glanced up from his plate, a thoughtful expression on his face. I braced myself for what he was about to say.
"Are you serious about being a writer?"
I paused, setting my fork down gently. The question caught me off guard, and a flush crept up my cheeks.
"Yeah," I admitted, feeling self-conscious about discussing this with anyone, especially him. "It's been a dream of mine for a long time. Since I’ve left my job, I want to give it a real shot."
Like my husband, would he think it was foolish of me to want to be a writer? Did he think I was too old to be starting over?
He nodded. "I did some research this morning on authors and writing careers. Some authors mentioned it's a stressful job."
"I guess it will be a bit stressful. But so was being a meteorologist. All jobs have their pros and cons. However, writing is something I feel passionate about. Stressful or not, I plan to give it a shot. I plan to write the first draft this summer, then spend the fall rewriting and making it better. But this summer, I want to at least get the story out of my head."
“That sounds like a solid plan. So, what happened last night? Hit a roadblock in writing and needed a research buddy, huh?" he asked.
I laughed, feeling the heat rise to my face again. "Yeah, something like that."
Or maybe I just wanted to see you and was willing to use any excuse necessary.Even I wasn’t quite sure yet.
He leaned in slightly, his voice teasing. "Was I helpful? Did I clear out all your roadblocks?"
