“Name?” Sarabeth chirps next to me.
She’s holding a white piece of chalk and a miniature chalkboard in her hands.
“Ledger Cole,” I tease.
“Notyou,” she sighs. “Thesoup.”
I chuckle and lean forward, repositioning a few of the surrounding slow cookers to make more room for mine so that it doesn’t come crashing off the counter’s edge once the chaos ensues.
“Chicken noodle.”
She gasps and drops her arms to her side dramatically. “Again? You havegotto get more creative.”
“Don’t fix what ain’t broke,” I defend.
Just before I turn back around, two soft hands wrap around my waist. Right on cue, a relieved breath leaves my lungs, and I cover Izzy’s hands with mine. Her cheek is pressed against my back, and she tightly squeezes her arms around my middle.
Normally, I pick her up from the airport when she returns from a trip on her own. This time though, the shoot was only six hours away, and she insisted on driving.
I made damn sure to buy her a new car and check that there weren’t any looming blizzards in her path before agreeing to that idea.
“One hour,” I state firmly.
The apple of her cheek rises against my back with a smile. Her chest vibrates as she laughs, and I release her hands to turn my body and face her.
“We should at least stay for two,” she counters. “Don’t you want to watch a little bit of the game?”
“No,” I mumble. “I’d rather watch my wife with no clo?—”
She quirks an eyebrow to cut me off but sneaks one hand under the hem of my shirt at the same time.
“An hour and a half. Final offer,” I say.
Our lips are inching closer to each other like magnets now. She smiles and rises to her tiptoes for a kiss that’s entirely too short for my liking.
“Okay,” she agrees. “Ninety minutes, then we can go home, and I’m all yours.”
Her blue eyes sparkle beneath her thick lashes, and I thread a hand through her silky blonde hair.
All mine.
“You’re beautiful.”
She throws her head back in a laugh. “You don’t have to tell me that every day.”
Agree to disagree.
I pull her in for a longer kiss this time, and she hums sweetly against my mouth.
Sarabeth clears her throat next to us, forcing Izzy to pull away, and I groan, dropping my forehead to hide in the crook of her neck.
“You’re first this year, Aunt Iz. I already drew the order from the names I put in the hat. My soup is right on the end with a bow on the lid,” she says with a wink.
I can’t hold back a laugh, earning me a slap on the bicep.
My hand tucks into my pocket as Izzy steps away, taking the tray from Sarabeth. A group of small, clear plastic cups are arranged on the tray so that each soup can be sampledseparately. In the corner, there’s a blank piece of paper to record scores.
“Thank you,” Izzy says cheerfully. “I’ll try not to be too biased. You know chicken noodle is my favorite.”
