Page 23 of Someone to Hold
A laugh bursts out of me. “What do you know aboutCharlotte’s Web?”
“That’s some pig,” he answers, holding up the cupcake frostedin pink icing that looks more like a mutilated animal than a storybook creature.
I feel my smile widen. “Luke loves Charlotte.”
“Me, too.” Chase places the cupcake on a plate and wipes his hands on a nearby kitchen towel. “He might hate me, but we have the same taste in children’s literature, at least with Wilbur and the gang.”
“I’m going to give you an A for effort,” I say. “But you’re forbidden from putting that thing in the carrier with my cupcakes. I’ve got a rep to protect.”
“I heard,” he agrees. “My sister told me all about Molly McAllister’s domestic diva talents. Wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation.”
“I appreciate that.” Ugh. Why do I sound so prim and proper? Not that I should want to sound any other way with Chase. Definitely not flirty.
It’s hard to remember that when he’s so ridiculously appealing. But it’s more than his rockin’ body and movie-star smile that have had me on the verge of melting all day. Okay, I’ll admit I spent far too much time watching his forearm muscles flex as he did everything from shifting the manual truck into gear to toting my flower buckets like they weighed about as much as a feather.
I actually thought about asking him to roll down his sleeves when it felt like I was having a premature hot flash—centered right between my thighs. However, my body’s reaction is nothing compared to the cartwheels my heart has been doing. Because I’m a sucker for anything sweet, his inherent kindness—and the fact that he doesn’t even seem to be aware of it--gets under my skin most of all. I understand he’s helping me out of an obligation to my late husband and his mother, but Chase has more than made up for the missed breakfast this morning.
Half the time, he seems to know what I need before I’ve said a word. Considering how much we had to do, he made what could have been a difficult few hours feel effortless. And whileseveral people recognized him in town—hometown hero and all that—he deferred questions about himself and kept the attention on me and my flowers.
During my marriage, I tried so hard to carve out my own place in our small mountain community, desperate to be seen outside of Teddy’s shadow. It wasn’t like I picked up the mantle of tradwife because I thought creating pretty or nice things made me special. It came naturally, just like growing flowers. But no matter what I tried or how much of an effort I made with his friends or coworkers, it was always the Teddy show.
My life became impossibly small, and I stood by and watched as every piece of myself was whittled away until only scraps were left. When the twins started preschool, I tried bringing in some extra money by catering local events. But every time I booked a job, Teddy would either get sick or be called out of town for some far-flung guiding gig. I couldn’t even make it to the book club I was invited to join with some local moms because my husband couldn’t commit to watching his children for a couple hours a month.
Both he and his mother made it clear that I chose to have the babies—our babies—and he’d done as much as I could expect of him by agreeing to marry me.
I channeled my creative energy into school volunteering, a habit I’ve continued since moving to Skylark. Sure, decorating cupcakes for a class party is small potatoes, but it was the first thing that gave me some reason to feel capable of creating something beautiful that also matters to someone else.
“If my disfigured piggy can’t be part of your perfect barnyard…” Chase starts to unwrap the cupcake, a smirk curving the edge of his full lips.
“Did you do a bad job on purpose so that you could get an early taste?”
His eyes take on a mischievous glint. “Sweetheart, do I look like a man who has to resort to unscrupulous means to get ataste?” His affronted tone is ruined when he gives me a slow wink.
I shake my head even as sparks skitter along my skin. He lifts the fully unwrapped cupcake toward me. “First bite is yours.”
It feels strangely intimate to allow him to feed me.
“You go ahead,” I say, pulling back slightly. “I know what my cupcakes taste like.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “That sounds like baking innuendo. I’d be a real goner if you used a British accent.”
I breathe out a small laugh. “What do you know about British baking?”
“There’s a lot of downtime on the circuit.” He studies the grotesquely decorated cupcake. “I’ve watched my share of baking shows. Obviously none of their expertise rubbed off on me, and I absorbed nothing about technique, but I appreciate watching other people make things pretty.”
“You’re seriously a fan of baking competitions?”
He shrugs. “They calm me down. Have a bite, Molly. It wouldn’t feel right if you don’t enjoy this monstrosity along with me.”
The way my mouth is watering suddenly has nothing to do with the cupcake. Still, I lean forward and take a small bite, then dab a bit of icing off my upper lip with the pad of one finger.
I watch his chest rise and fall and try not to reveal my own physical reaction, but damn, that’s a good cupcake.
“It needs a smidge more salt,” I say, because self-critical is my go-to.
Chase frowns and pops the rest of the cupcake into his mouth. His eyes drift closed, and he lets out a small moan. “Fucking perfection,” he whispers and licks his lips.
I swallow back a moan and come close to swallowing my tongue.
