Page 250 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
He says it as if it’s obvious, as if it’s of course we’d build it that way. Like, of course, he remembers how I always wanted to keep my horses in my home. What eighteen-year-old doesn’t?
And I sit here, listening to this man sketch out a life with me, in architecture and sawdust and sunlight, and realize this isn’t just his dream.
It’s ours.
And every aspect he’s created has always included me.
It’s so easy to talk to him, just like I remember. And we continue long after we’ve eaten, keeping this distance between us because we know one touch and neither of us will have restraint.
But when we start gathering the empty plates and crumpled napkins into the picnic blanket, his hands are grazing and touching again.
“Are you trying to turn this cleanup into a contact sport?” I joke, watching him snag my hand as I reach for a plate.
He grins, holding my fingers just a second too long. “If it’s a sport, I’m aiming for gold.”
“You’re definitely winningMost Persistent Tease.”
When I pull my arm away, he catches my chin with rough, warm fingers and drags me close to him. I practically crawl to him on all fours.
“I think we make a pretty good team.” His eyes dart to my mouth.
“Do you now?”
“I do.”
I smile. “Then I guess I should let you know you’ve got a little something here.” I run my finger over my chin.
“Here?” He runs his finger over the stubble on his jaw.
I shake my head.
“Here?” His hand runs down his throat.
“Just wait.” I pull away, hating being away from his touch.
I riffle through the basket for what I want and fold a napkin around it.
“Sit.” I press my hand against his chest, forcing him to his ass.
Before he can object, not that he would, I slip onto his lap, swinging my leg over his side and straddling him.
“Anything you say.” His hand comes to rest on my hip, pulling me closer to him.
“Anything?”
He nods.
Our faces are inches apart, breaths mingling.
And then—
He kisses me.
The moment his lips touch mine, everything stills and sharpens at the same time. His lower lip brushes mine first. A light, tentative sweep that sends a ripple straight through my stomach. A little uncertain at first, like he still can’t believe this is real.
Ican’t believe this is real.
How many nights did I dream of this exact moment and waking up hating that dream while secretly enjoying every moment?
