Page 47 of Small Town Firsts
“You’re handling me again.”
“You like how I handle you.” I ran my hand down her ass, dragging her tight against me until our thighs tangled. “And it’s okay to lean on someone, Sunshine.”
Her eyes clouded over, but she backed up and climbed into the tub before snapping the curtain closed.
The shower came on and steam plumed above the oval hanger bolted from the ceiling. I shook my head when I noticed more plants hung in creative baskets and pots both from hooks and attached to the walls. These plants had a more tropical flavor including fragile blooms from orchids that created more of that heady floral scent I associated with her.
She wasn’t frilly, but she leaned hard into the female in her own space. An insight that I tucked into the corner of my mind. She worked with men all the time and made sure to downplay the earthy, womanly side of her.
Botanical greens and sharp deep purples left the bathroom feeling more like an oasis than simply functional. I was afraid to use one of her washcloths to clean up. I had enough sisters and an artist mother to know the decorative embroidery wasn’t supposed to touch my balls.
I opened a few cabinets before she called out directions to the linen closet outside. I found more suitable things there and grabbed an oversized bath sheet for her, and an older, half threadbare one for myself.
I quickly washed up. My cold shower at the barn had barely made me suitable for burning up the sheets with Kira, and now? Yeah. It wasn’t pretty, but this would do until I could grab a shower. She needed to eat and relax for a bit.
Talking with her earlier brought it home that I needed to start helping when it came to the Taproom. Getting a better idea of what kind of food she wanted to have in there was top on the list so I could choose which flavors I wanted to focus on now that I had a feel for Brothers Three. However, just because she was scarily efficient didn’t mean I could continue to fuck off and leave everything to her.
August would be here before we knew it. The small batches of hard cider didn’t need as much fermenting time as bottling would, so I’d had more room to play, but that window was closing. Bottling would be a whole different deal. Thankfully Beckett was giving me some lead time to figure out how the orchard worked and how their apples would match with my vision for the future of the Brothers Three Taproom as well as distribution.
I liked a more robust style of cider and could go dry or back sweeten the batches depending on what Kira had in mind. I was pretty sure I’d need to make another order of yeast, and research some of the champagne and wine yeasts for the larger batch processing during the winter months.
Thoughts of work took a backseat to my very loudly growling belly as I made my way to her bedroom. There was little difference between the steamy bathroom and the hallway. Whatever miracle of air quality she created in her apartment had been dented by using the oven and our own gymnastics.
The night was turning out to be as oppressive as the day, and I opted to just pull on my boxers to reheat the frittatas in the tiny air fryer she had. I found a few more tomatoes in her crisperand made a quick vinaigrette with the plethora of supplies in her pantry.
I was pinching off a few herbs as she came down the hall.
“It smells amazing.” She wore an old Foo Fighters T-shirt with a wide, ripped collar that slid over one golden shoulder.
“Your fridge is pretty bare, but I managed to put something together.” I popped a tomato in my mouth to see how far off I was and added a splash of red wine vinegar to balance the dressing.
“Hasn’t been much time to cook lately.”
I shut the skinny cupboard that had been packed with spices. “But you must like to cook with that stash.”
Her cheeks pinked up. “Maybe. Cheaper to dress up chicken than buy out all the time.”
“Because you’re very smart and pragmatic.” I pulled out the frittata and slid it onto a plate then garnished it with a few of the tomatoes. I grabbed the plate, and the bowl of tomatoes and mozzarella I’d managed to cobble together in one hand, cutlery in the other as I herded her toward the Barbie-sized round table by the window.
“Handling me again.”
“Someone needs to. Might as well be me.”
“Who says?”
“If anyone needs some care, it’s you, Kira.”
She frowned and sat down. She tucked her foot up on the seat by her very distractible ass and circled her knee with her arms. Her shirt slid farther down her shoulder and I couldn’t resist brushing a kiss over the golden skin before setting the plate in front of her.
“You don’t have to?—”
“Eat.” I spun the other chair around and straddled it. I figured it was safer for support and a shield in front of my cock was probably a good idea as well. I wanted to pamper her, takecare of her, and fuck her all at once. Right now, she just needed to be fed. I guess that counted for pampering—for now.
“Aren’t you going to have some?”
I held up two forks. “Dig in.”
She stared at me for a minute before taking one of the forks.
