Page 76 of Slow Burn
Her hands gripped at the blankets as he shifted lower, lips still brushing skin. “Anything Italian,” she managed.
“Mmmm,” he rumbled, the sound vibrating through her until she melted beneath him, ready to burn all over again.
twenty-eight
“Most people guard against going into the fire, and so end up in it.” - Rumi
Cole wanted to see Jocelyn sitting at his kitchen island in the morning light every damn day for the rest of his life.
Even with her distracted, just having her there settled something in him. The way the sun caught her hair, pulling out the auburn tint, or how it kissed her skin so she looked like she was lit from the inside… It about wrecked him.
She had one leg tucked up, looking real easy in her body, but her eyes said she was someplace else entirely. She'd called her uncle to check in earlier, so might've been the fire weighing on her.
Could’ve been their night together, too, and fear twisted a fist in his belly at the thought that she might've been sitting there, hoping it’d stay a one-time thing. Or worse, that she was wishing it hadn’t happened at all.
Because he sure as hell wasn’t.
He used to be a one-and-done kind of guy, back when he was still trying to outrun all that heat burning him up inside. But hewasn’t that kid anymore. Now he knew, every time his eyes had landed on that photo of her on the mantel, it wasn’t just habit.
It was him waiting.
Waiting for this, for her, sitting in his kitchen after a night tangled up in his sheets like she belonged there. Because damn if it didn’t feel like she did.
He set a plate in front of her, drawing her mind back.
Her brow loosened as she smiled down at his creation. “What’s this?”
“Taste it,” he challenged.
Her gaze slid to his as she cut herself a bite, watching him the whole time she brought the fork to her mouth. She only broke the contact when she looked down, surprised. “Is that—”
“A frittata,” he confirmed.
“How…?”
“Experimenting is my thing. The recipes on that menu downstairs? Mostly came from me.” He shrugged and straightened. "Frittata is kinda like an omelet.”
“Kind of, but not exactly,” she said, eyeing him. “This is amazing, Cole. You sure you don’t want to turn the Nail into an all-day eatery?”
He blew out a laugh and shook his head. “Nope. What I got is plenty to keep me busy.”
Her mouth curved slow. “I thought you liked staying busy."
He turned back to the stove to get some grub for himself. “Noticed that, huh?”
“You seem to have an endless supply of energy.”
He turned and grinned at her. “You’d know.”
She rolled her eyes. “Speaking of busy…”
“Oh no.” He groaned, dropping his head. It wasn’t a surprise; there was plenty he needed to do that day, like building some more of the booths for the festival at the end of the week. Buthe'd wanted to bask in this for a while yet. “Can’t we just act like nothin’ else matters? Just for one day?”
She smiled at him grimly, and then an uncertain look glimmered in her dark eyes as she looked down. That, he knew, was related to them.
He wanted to pull her in close, tell her he wasn’t going anywhere. But she already looked like a spooked horse, and the last thing he wanted was to make her bolt. So he kept his hands to himself, walked to the island like it didn’t cost him, and sat down to eat his breakfast, pretending it was just another morning.
“What’s on your docket, then?” Didn’t sound like he was rattled, thank God. Even if he was.
