Page 58 of Flirting With Fire
“You were a kid.”
“I was scared. I couldn’t wait to go to college and find me.”
Dex gave me a wistful smile, and I was sure that as much as he loved his life on the ranch, there had to be some regrets, too. “And you did.”
“I longed to get the hell out of Charming, but I never forgot the boy I left behind. He just never grew into this hot-as-fuck man in my head.” I reached out and tipped the hat off his head.
“Hey!” he said indignantly.
I pulled him down and kissed him, soft and chaste at first, then harder just to make him shiver. Then I rolled him underneath me, nestling between his legs. “This is what I wanted to do with that boy.”
Dex stared up at me, wide-eyed. “Kiss me?”
“Uh-huh, but I want to ask you a question first.”
“Go on,” he said, warily.
I bent over to whisper in his ear, relishing his shiver.
“Now, how do we make prickly-pear salsa?”
Chapter Sixteen
Dex
“How positive are you that Todd wants to go to the Bahamas for your vacation?”
I was in the middle of my Sunday catch-up call with Kayla and making a last-ditch effort at guilting her into coming to Charming for the fiesta. I was struggling to make her see the benefit of her hometown outdoor chile fiesta instead of enjoying a peaceful, relaxing vacation at some boring, old luxury resort.
I lived with a lot of hope.
“More positive than words can express.”
“That’s pretty positive,” I sighed.
“Yup.”
“You’ll have to talk me through it,” I said.
She gasped. “The entire weekend? Dude. I’m not going to be on the phone with you while I’m getting massages and enjoying sexy times.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose as I settled back on the living room sofa. I was waiting for Meyer to get back from the store with a crapton of fresh ingredients. I’d offered to accompany him, but he’d suggested I get all the cute little jars out and sterilize them while he was gone so we could save time.
“Yeah, no. Not what I meant, sis.” I ruffled my hair. “I mean the making of the salsa.”
“Didn’t you get my email?”
“I did.”
I plucked on one of the tassels of an old throw pillow. I idly wondered why I still had it. A vague memory of spilling grape juice on it when I was five or six drifted through my mind. I turned it over, and sure enough, there was a darker spot in the corner of the chocolate brown linen fabric. Maybe it was time to spruce the place up a bit now that Meyer was around.
“Did you hear what I said?” Kayla grumbled.
“About the recipe?”
“Oh my god. Why me?” she muttered. “Yes. I said, if you have the recipe then what’s the problem? I gave detailed instructions. You already know how to scrape the needles off the pads. The rest is a no-brainer.”
“I know, but…” I was seriously out of my element, and I didn’t think she was grasping how clueless I was in the kitchen. “I’m not really the recipe type. What if I misunderstand and screw it all up? I don’t want the townspeople buying a disgusting salsa and our family name to be forever tainted because I don’t know what I’m doing.”
