Page 92 of A Love Like Candle Light

"You do." She shoots me a cheeky grin, and I'm just glad I could lift her spirits again. "You have a great cock too."

"I know."

We stare at each other. I still can't believe this is real.

Without even realizing it, our faces have pulled toward each other like two magnets, impossible to resist. Not that I would want to.

I capture her lips with mine and a deep sigh feathers over my skin as she immediately she relaxes, melting into the kiss. A happy hum escapes the back of my throat. Kissing her is like coming home. Like candle light in the dark, a warm hot chocolate on a cold winter night.

"One question," I mumble against her lips when she draws back.

"Hm?" She stares at me in wonder, looking drunk from our kiss.

"What kind of pizza am I getting you?"

Half an hour later, we cuddle up on the couch, pizza boxes in our laps, my arm around her shoulders and a murder mystery playing on my TV. My feet are propped up on my coffee table, hers are on the couch as she leans against my side.

"I don't know, this guy is just giving me the ick." She points at one of her suspects.

"So far he seems pretty innocent to me." He doesn’t. It’s totally him. But I love teasing her. "By all means, he seems like a nice guy."

"Sure." Irony drips from her voice, and she takes a hearty bite out of her pepperoni pizza. Abby already ate while we waited for our delivery, and now she's curled up next to Kylie, her little head inching closer to the pizza box.

"I have to give it to you, Erik. Ordering pizza is the best idea you've had yet.”

“Seriously?” I arch my eyebrow. “Better than the picnic?”

“This pizza is really damn good." She waves one of her slices through the air. I grab her wrist, pull it to my face and take a bite off it.

"Hey!" She pouts and reaches for one of my pieces with her free hand, taking a hearty bite out of it.

"Oh fuck,” she groans with her eyes closed. “Yours is good too. Want to trade a piece?"

"Hell yes."

She switches one of our slices. Then another one, when she declares my spinach pizza better than hers. Honestly, I don’t give a damn.

Once we're done, I bring the boxes into my kitchen and grab a blanket on my way back, because if there's one thing I learned about my girl, it's how easily she freezes. And how much I like cuddling with her under a blanket.

A very fortunate combination.

"Has anyone ever told you how comfy you are?" she mumbles against the side of my chest, mushing her cheek against my shirt.

"Can't say anyone has." I kiss the top of her head and let out a deep, happy sigh.

Now that the pizza is gone, Abby has no interest in staying on the couch and finds herself a spot right by my fireplace. I turned off the light and lit some candles because candle light makes everything better. Their flames flicker, and give Kylie the most beautiful orange glow.

"By the way," she blindly reaches behind her and pats the couch until she finds her phone, "my friend sent me the aged-up picture just before the pizza came. Let me forward it to you."

As she pulls it up on her phone, I catch a glance at it.

And then I stare, heart beating so loudly I can barely hear her.

“That’s her?” I press out.

"Potentially." She hands me her phone. One more reason I completely trust her. If anything were going on with her ex, I doubt she'd hand it over like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before even studying the picture, I press another kiss to the top of her head.

“Now, I’m not an expert, so bear with my amateur explanation. From what I understand, they don't only take the child's facial features into account to age them up,” she explains and sits up a little straighter, “and if you need more info, I can totally give you Gabriella's email. She explained it to me, they use a certain algorithm, based on images from the child, then go with an average of which feature it has from which parent. They tested on hundreds of pictures and most of them were accurate enough to identify them.” Which, in all honesty, sounds about a hundred times more reliable than one person relying on guesswork and their experience.