Page 13 of Keeping Ava

“No, but I am more embarrassed by my reaction.” Heat blooms across my cheeks and to the tip of my ears. “Can we just drop it and clean up? Please.”

He makes a sound at the back of his throat, a mixture between a grunt and a groan that forces my eyes to his. “You hungry?”

My stomach rumbles then, and the blush heats further. “A little.”

Eli raises a brow from his position. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“A real meal?”

“Yes.”

“Two days ago.”

Once again, I am lifted onto a countertop, which pulls a squeak from me. This time, though, he doesn’t linger near me. “Stay,” is all he says before leaving the room for a minute or two. When he’s back, there’s a mop, broom, and a bucket in his hands along with a few rags.

Placing them near the sink, he opens the cabinet below and pulls out a few spray bottles with different-colored liquids inside.

“Can I help?”

“After I sweep up the glass.” And that’s what he does. Broom in hand, he gathers the larger pieces, picks them up, and tosses them inside the garbage bin. Then, after nothing is left beside the small bits, he begins to sweep the floor clean of spaghetti and glass.

Watching him work like this, doing something so domesticated is...sexy.

Tempting me with what I shouldn’t want.

A house.

To share my life with someone.

To not run or constantly have to watch my back.

Elijah Ford is going to be extremely dangerous for me.

“How about now?”

He looks over and rolls his eyes with mock annoyance, sweeping the last bit into a dustpan he produced out of nowhere. Or did he bring that with him? “...dirty. Can you?”

“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”

“Can you wipe down the appliances and cabinet doors that got dirty?”

“Oh, ummm. Yeah.” I brace my palms on the granite to help me jump down when, in the blink of an eye, he’s on me. Grabbing my hips in his strong hands, Eli picks me up and places me on the floor right in front of him. I stumble a bit and brace myself against his chest. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt. These are higher than the standard because of my height.”

Our close proximity is like a drug, clouding my judgment once more. And before I can chicken out—before I can rationalize just how idiotic I am—I lean forward and kiss his chin. A quick peck on his skin that nearly breaks me in two.

However, because I’m a bigger chicken than idiot, I step back quickly and avert my eyes, focusing instead on the different bottles beside the rags. “Which one can I use for the cabinets?”

“Either of the two light pink ones is fine.” It comes out as a groan, and I ignore it. Choosing to focus on the task at hand, I fight the urge to turn around and let him see me.

How he’s affecting me.

How much I wish it’d been his lips instead.

I’m beyond screwed.

Chapter 5

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