Page 104 of Unspoken Words
“Pleeeease. It’s been so long.” Connor waved the door, prompting me.
I shot him a look of warning.
“Kiss me. Kiss meeeeee.” He made the same stupid kiss sounds he’d made all those years ago by the river, his puckered lips right beside my ear.
I turned my head to glare at him, which was a mistake because his lips were now mere centimeters from mine. So close. So soft. So familiar yet … not.
His kissing noise stopped, and I sucked in a breath, the urge to taste him pulling from deep within. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I was with Byron, and I would never do to him what was done to me.
“Forget it!” I said, pushing past him to enter the house. “I’m not kissing your damn door.”
“Meanie McNo Kiss Head,” he mumbled.
I bit my lip to suppress my laugh, his playful voice incredibly cute coming from a six-foot-plus man with tattoos and a five o’clock shadow.
Glancing over my shoulder real quick, I sneaked a look at his arse as he turned and closed the door. I’d always loved his tight arse in jeans and football shorts. Firm. Round. Strong.
“I hope you’re hungry.”
My eyes snapped to his, a silvery—and perhaps, knowing— glint shining back at me. “I am. Yum. What have you been cooking?” I blurted, turning on my heel and following the scent of bread and bacon like a sniffer dog.Oh my God, Ellie! Get your shit together.
“Croissants. Hopefully they’re still warm.”
I entered the kitchen and spotted a small four-seater dining table covered with a clean, black and white, polka dotted tablecloth, and on the centre of the table was a vase of homegrown, clipped, white hydrangeas. There was a setting for two: plates, cutlery, and two glasses of orange juice. It was all very sweet, and I couldn’t ignore the tinge of guilt creeping over me for having complained about breakfast back at my house.
“This is really lovely,” I said, quietly.
He relieved me of my handbag then pulled out a seat for me to sit on.
“Thank you. It smells amazing.”
“We have a lot to get through today, and we can’t sign paperwork and write songs on an empty stomach.”
Connor slid oven mitts on his hands, opened the oven door, and pulled out a tray of golden brown croissants with bacon, cheese oozing over the sides.
My stomach grumbled in anticipation.
“So youarehungry? Go figure.” He carefully carried the tray to the table and served a croissant onto my plate. “One? Two?”
“One is perfect. Thanks.”
He pushed two onto his plate. “Two is perfect.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Now, how do you take your coffee? Still white with two sugars?”
“Oh, I can make the coffee,” I said, pushing back my chair. “You sit and eat before it gets cold.”
“No, you’re my guest, so you sit.”
“But you’ve gone to all this trouble. I feel lazy.”
“Ellie, think of it as a thank-you-for-working-with-me breakfast of champions. Please just sit, eat … enjoy.”
“Fine.” I sat back down.
“So, how do you take your coffee?”
