“Who said I was on the menu?” she asks, stopping a short distance in frontofme.
I run the back of my fingers down her flushed cheeks. “These.”
Ava always blushes when she isturnedon.
The ravenous fire in her eyes dampens, and her throat works hard to swallow. “Well, I’m not…yet.But these are.” Her eyes dart down to the massive stack of mouthwatering goodness in herhands.
Her lips tug high as she outstretches her arm, offering the pancakes to me. My mouth salivates as my eagerness to taste their scrumptious goodness thickens my blood. It’s been years since I’ve tasted anything as good as Ava’spancakes.
My pupils widen and a dramatic gasp escapes my lips when Ava releases her grip on her end of the plate before I’ve secured my end. Time slows to a snail pace as the pancakes plummet towards the ground. I scramble, trying in vain to save them before they land in the bin I’m standingnextto.
I’m too late. The pancakes arehistory.
“Oh no,” Ava gasps, her hand darting up to cover her gapedmouth.
“It’s okay, we can save a few of them,” Iassure.
Although they’ve landed in the bin, the top ten pancakes are sitting straight, not touching anything that resembles rubbish, giving me the all clear to salvage them. “The top few haven’t touched anythinggross.”
“Oh,” Ava says, her voice a highshriek.
With a smile on her face, she grabs a bowl of empty egg shells from the kitchen sink and dumps them onto thepancakes.
Her lips purse. “Can they still be saved?” she queries, her voice no longer having the sugary sweetness it hadearlier.
My brows meet my hairline. I’ve never witnessed Ava unleash such cruelty. What did the poor defenseless pancakes ever do to her? My eyes lift from the ruined pancakes covered in eggshell pieces to Ava. Gone is the little sex kitten who was prowling around the kitchen, replaced by a lady whose heart looks like it was carved by an icesculptor.
Ava’s eyes blaze into mine. “I’m going to take a shower. You better be gone by the time I get out. If not, I’ll call thepolice.”
Chapter Ten
Ava
Oh my god!I can’t believe I did that! I’ve never been so…rude! Jorgie would be so proud I’ve finally grown a backbone. It might have taken me twenty-nine years, but it is better late than never. I barely slept a wink all night, unable to comprehend that the man who snatched my ability to enjoy a restful night was in my living room, sleeping on my rock-hard couch. I’d dreamed of nights like last night, praying that one day Hugo would suddenly reappear. What I wasn’t expecting was the flood of emotions that would returnwithhim.
At first I was shocked, not believing what my eyes were relaying, thinking it was a cruel, twisted joke. It was only when the fog cleared did the reality of the situation dawn on me. Hugo isn’t dead. He is far from it. So where has he been the past five years? And why did he wait so long before emerging again? He would have had to have known what his mother was going through. He saw firsthand the pain she endured when she lost Jorgie and her grandson. How could he put her through that again? How could he do thattome?
That is when my anger surfaced. It festered and boiled my blood all night, overheating my body with more fury than I’ve ever felt. I’m furious Hugo was so selfish, that he could do that to his own mother. I at least got a goodbye. Mrs. Marshall didn’t even get that. Hugo took the coward’s way out when he left. He left his family. Left me.Left us.It was his choice, so he doesn’t get to waltz back into my life acting like nothing’schanged.
Everything’schanged.
A grin tugs on my lips as I slip out of a pair of the denim shorts I rustled from the back of my walk-in closet this morning. Hugo’s always been a legs man, and even though his physical characteristics have changed from the man I used to know, his insides are the exact same. The shell of an egg can be painted any color you like, but the inside is still a heartless yolk. Knowing Hugo loves legs nearly as much as he loves blueberry pancakes, I decided on my little ploy. Was it childish? Yes. What is over the top? Yes. Would I do it again? Yes! In a heartbeat. The look on his face when his beloved pancakes toppled in the bin was priceless. Totally worth the hour I slaved over the open-flamed cooktop tomakethem.
I raise the hem of my shirt, throw it over the top of my head and step into the steam-filled shower. In an effort to regain some of my usual down-to-earth composure, I take my time in the shower, lathering and pampering my exhausted body. As I run a washcloth over my body, images of my run-in with Hugo last night pop into the forefront of my mind. Although his torso is covered with more tattoos than my eyes could ever absorb, his body was…panty-drenching good.Ripples of hard muscles, smooth planes of colorful skin and his cock,my god,I thought I was letting my imagination get the better of me the past five years. I wasn’t.Jesus.If I was in a cartoon, my eyes would have comically bugged out ofmyhead.
My body. Well… a lot has changed there the past five years. My boobs are no longer sitting where they should be, their perkiness dwindling away with my youth. My thighs are a little larger, and my stomach is anything but smooth. We couldn’t be more opposite if we tried. Hugo is hard, colorful, and accentuated. I’m squidgy, plain, andboring.
Hold on! Why am I even comparing us? Hugo is a nobody. He’s the equivalent of a barfly, buzzing in and out of my life as he saw fit. Not anymore. I’m putting my foot down.This isn’t just about meanymore.
After a long, hot shower, I make my way out of the bathroom. The house is eerily quiet, only the grandfather clock pendulum swinging can be heard. Hugo must have heeded my warning.Good, because my warning wasn’t an idlethreat.
I walk into the laundry room and slip out the back door. The rusty-hinged gate separating the land between my house and Mrs. Mable’s gives out a small squeak when I open it. The gate was Mrs. Mable’s idea. She figured it would save me scaling her fence again if I ever felt the need to add some additional fertilizer to her award-winning rose garden. My cheeks flamed as I stumbled out the worst apology of my life. I’d never been moreembarrassed.
Even though I was joking about adopting Mrs. Mable as a grandmother at Jorgie’s wedding, she has become exactly that. She is a little bundle of mischief who keeps my life interesting. I would have loved to have introduced her to Patty, but unfortunately Patty’s gigantic heart gave out a few weeks after Hugo disappeared.It really has been a shit couple ofyears.
Mrs. Mable walks out of the kitchen, drying a china teacup in her hand when she hears me opening the glass sliding door on her back patio. Her lips purse as her rheumy eyes roam over my face. Her gaze is full of suspicion, and it has my curiosity piqued. I arch my brow and return her ardent stare. When I notice the scoundrel look on her face, my jawdrops.
“I’m revoking your key holder privileges,” I say, staring into her rascally eyes. “You toldHugowhere the spare key was, didn’t you?” My voice squeaks when I sayhisname.
