Page 7 of The Wish List
I was pleased to see she looked as disappointed as I felt. She stood, and I followed her to the door. “Thank you for your help today,” she said. “And breakfast. It was delicious, and I enjoyed spending some time with you.”
I stepped closer. “So did I.” I paused. “I don’t want to leave,” I confessed.
“Oh,” she breathed out.
“I want to see you again.” I cupped her cheek, the skin beneath my fingers soft and smooth. I stroked it with my thumb, feeling the heat gather under my touch.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
“Do you feel it?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “This…draw?”
She nodded, not speaking.
I dropped my head, brushing along her cheek with my lips. “I want to explore it. If you feel the same way,” I added.
She gripped my jacket with her hand, fisting the material tightly. “I’m not alone.”
“I know. I think you’re a wonderful mother. I like your son. I like you.” I took her hand in mine, lifting it to my lips. “Please,” I asked again, the word coming easily when it came to her.
“I, ah, don’t think I’m the kind of woman you’re used to, Asher.”
I liked the way she said my name. It was different from when she said it to her son. This was breathier, needier.
“I’m not used to any kind of woman, Rosie. I’m a bit of a loner. But I want to get to know you better—if you let me.”
“I’m not in your league.”
“I wasn’t aware I had one. And if I do, I want you there with me. Let me see you again.”
“Maybe you should think about it, and if you decide you want to, you know where I am.”
I pressed my mouth to her cheek, my lips lingering. Her hair tickled my cheek, the scent of her, soft and feminine, swirling around me.
I didn’t need to think.
I already knew.
* * *
I knocked on her door at nine o’clock that night. I heard light footsteps, and she opened the door, surprised. Her hair was up, and she was dressed in fuzzy pants and a long sweatshirt. Warm socks were on her feet. She looked adorable.
“Asher?” she asked, confused.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said.
“I see.” She chewed on her lip. “Did you want to come in and tell me your thoughts, or did you come to say goodbye?”
I stepped into the apartment. “I came to share.”
“Okay.”
She had the tree lights on, quiet music playing, and a book was open on the sofa. A mug of something warm steamed on the coffee table.
“AJ asleep?”
“He conked out about twenty minutes ago.”
“Am I interrupting your quiet time?” I had a feeling she didn’t get much of that.
