My cheeks heat, my body warming all over. I’m overcome with the involuntary, hopeful thought that he’s not just talking about plates anymore.
“Okay,” I hedge. Holding my breath, I lift the plate. “Together?”
He nods. “On three.”
He counts us down. We drop the plates. They crack and fall apart. In that moment, sitting on his kitchen counter with pieces of shattered china littering the floor, I’ve never felt more whole.
Still laughing, Alaric cups my face. He kisses my forehead, both cheeks, then the tip of my nose. “Every part of you is precious to me.” He captures my lips in a heated, drawn-out kiss.
My hopefulness grows, though it’s tethered by uncertainty. “Even the messy parts?”
“Especially the messy parts.” He rubs the tip of his nose with mine and peppers my neck with kisses. His stubble scrapes against my skin, making me squirm in his arms. Eventually, he relents, holding me tight, surrounded by the mess we made together.
CHAPTER 45
EVANGELINE
I’m warm and safe and completely satisfied in Alaric’s arms, on the verge of drifting off to sleep. He’s restless beside me, though, despite the full day we shared.
When he releases a soft but disgruntled sigh, I peek over my shoulder.
“Was it that single shot of espresso this morning that’s keeping you up?” I tease, tracing my fingers over his knuckles on the hand circled around my waist.
He snickers. “Quite possibly.” Then he sighs, the exhale heavier this time. He shifts closer, holding me tighter from behind. “I wasn’t exaggerating the other night when I told you I don’t sleep well. I can go out to the living room if I’m disturbing you. Just say the word.”
“No.” I’m quick to object. “Please stay.”
Turning in his arms, I rest my head on the corner of his pillow, bringing us nose to nose. “I’ll drift off eventually. But it’s technically still your birthday.” The clock on his nightstand reads 11:40 p.m. “And I want to spend every waking moment of it with you.”
He hums contemplatively, kissing the tip of my nose. His hand drifts down my side and finds a home on my low back.
“I don’t know any recipes off the top of my head, but I could tell you a bedtime story,” I suggest sleepily.
His responding chuckle shakes the bed.
“Tell me about your childhood. What did you like to do for fun? Were you into sports?”
“I liked crafts and getting messy.” I peek one eye open. Neither of those special interests should come as a surprise.
His smile is filled with adoration when my vision adjusts in the dark and I meet his gaze.
“I tried karting when I was little and played softball for one season, but I hated the feel of the batting helmets and field masks. Auri was the athlete in the family.”
“What’s the age difference between you?” he asks, his fingers kneading into the muscles of my low back.
“She’s seven years older. Her dad was in a motorcycle accident when she was just a few months old. Our mom married my dad when she was five.”
“That’s awful,” Alaric murmurs. “It must have been so hard on your mother. Your sister made it to Formula 3, yes?”
“Mm-hmm,” I confirm. “She’s a few years older than the Elite Eight. She would have been in Shelby Young’s rookie class had she made it all the way to F1.”
“I always hated that name,” Alaric grouses.
“Shelby?”
“No,” he laughs. “TheElite Eight. As if those kids weren’t under enough pressure, competing on the world stage before most of them were even legal adults.”
“You sound like a dad,” I tease.
