Page 30 of Desiring an Angel

“You’re beautiful,” we both spoke at the same time.

Warmth flooded my face as our gazes once more met, and I shifted on my feet.

“Thanks,” we echoed—and grinned like a couple of dorks.

“Here…hold on.” I dropped her hand and hurried back to my car to retrieve the bottle of white wine and rose I’d brought for her. “I wasn’t sure if you liked either of these,” I said, breathless when I’d reached her side once more, “but here.”

I shoved both gifts her way like an awkward teenager faced with his crush on prom night.

“I love both,” she claimed, clutching the presents to her chest. “Roses are my favorite—and lavender? Did you know that color rose stands for enchantment?”

I did, but she didn’t allow me a chance to answer.

“And that a single rose given as a gift means you’ve fallen at first sight? I-I’m not suggesting that’s what happened—that’s what kept you in your car for too long…I’m just…um… Oh my.” She bit her lip, wetness welling in her eyes.

I loved how expressive she was. “No crying. Please,” I whispered, my own throat going tight, my hands itching to touch her again.

“They’re happy tears,” she insisted, her chin tilting upward slightly.

“That’s good.”

A pregnant moment expanded around us, one filled with hope and yearning. I wanted to sit and hold her. Talk until both our voices went hoarse. Kiss her soft lips and dip my tongue into her mouth to taste her sweetness.

Beeping from behind her jolted us both back to reality.

“The rolls!” Skylar whispered and spun, leaving me outside, alone, the scent of coconuts lingering in my nose.

The front door stood open, and even though Skylar hadn’t invited me to follow her, I stepped into the house. Savory scents hit my face with delicious warmth, flooding my mouth with drool.

The clang of metal sounded from the back of the house, so I shut the door and ambled forward, taking note of the clean hardwood floors and living room on my right. Not a single speck of dust lay on the stair railing to my left or the framed pictures of space lining the hallway. Rhett would love that fact.

My throat tightened again at the thought of him alone, and I wondered if perhaps I shouldn’t have listened to him when he insisted I stay in California. Heart torn, I moved into the brightly lit kitchen sprawling across the back of the house, vibrant white cabinets with black handles accented by bursts of blues throughout the backsplash and decor.

“I’m so nervous I don’t think I’ll be able to eat a damn thing,” Skylar stated, breathless, her face flushed as she tipped a muffin pan to release the dinner rolls she’d taken from the oven.

Steam rose from the golden tops, and my stomach growled at the scent of freshly baked bread.

“I was too anxious earlier today to eat anything,” I told her, “so I’m starved.”

“Oh, thank goodness. Do you like pot roast?” She scampered toward a crockpot, pulling off her oven mitts to toss them onto the counter, but once more didn’t give me time to respond. “I prefer mashed potatoes, but I was afraid I would be too scatterbrained to get them right, so I quartered some smaller ones, tossed in a bag of carrots—”

Her voice cut out, and she paused in front of the crockpot to draw a deep breath. She turned to face me. “I tend to ramble a bit sometimes.”

“I like your rambling.”

Her shoulders sagged, her eyes once more welling.

I stepped closer, itching to soothe her. Touch her. “What did I say about the crying?”

“But they’re happy tears!” she exclaimed, grabbing hold of my hands again like she didn’t want to go a minute without physical touch either.

That same sense of rightness eased through my blood, and I clasped her fingers tighter wishing like hell Rhett was there to enjoy the moment with us.

Her smile wobbled, her lower lip sucking between her teeth when my gaze dropped to her mouth.

Rhett had given his blessing—

I leaned forward without further thought, pressing my lips against hers.

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