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“’Kay,” I said, gazing up at him in absolute adoration, because seriously, was he even real?
Maybe everything since the night of the Halloween party had been one elaborate, too-good-to-be-true dream. Yeah. I bet when I’d gone down the stairs into my old workroom to save Jacqueline, I’d forgotten about that low-hanging pipe and I’d hit my head. I was probably still lying on the cold metal stairs in some kind of coma. Lord, I hope someone found me soon. The idea of Uncle Bru having to clean up all the blood that was no-doubt seeping from my head wound was kind of worrisome.
Other than that, I was actually fine with staying right there, in coma land.
With Ezra.
“Kaitlynn?” A sexy male hand waved in front of my face. Then his face appeared in front of me, his blue eyes squinted with concern. “You still with me, Yellow?”
I nodded, only to answer, “I dunno. I think maybe you fucked me stupid.”
He laughed.
I seriously loved his laugh.
Hooking his hands under my armpits, he answered, “Not possible. You’re still too adorably witty to be stupid yet. But maybe after a few more rounds…” He shrugged and grinned, insinuating that anything was possible.
Hauling me up, he hoisted me over his shoulder, like literally, over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Any food recommendation for the cook?” he asked, starting from the room and smacking his palm against my bare, exposed butt.
“Uh…” I said, still too discombobulated by what was happening.
“Good,” he cut in before I could even think up an answer. “Because I really only know how to cook one thing anyway. It was the only thing my mom knew how to cook, and she taught me the trade.”
We entered the kitchen where he gently lowered me to sit on the kitchen counter, pausing to kiss the end of my nose before he turned away to open the refrigerator.
I wiggled a bit so the back of his shirt covered my tush and I wasn’t sitting directly on cold Formica, but otherwise I remained where he left me, content to watch him do his thing and super curious about this overly-cheerful, good mood he seemed to be in.
“So your mom didn’t cook much?” I asked, eager to learn everything I could about him and his family and childhood.
He appeared from behind the refrigerator door, still wearing nothing but boxer shorts and holding a tub of butter along with a package of American cheese slices.
“Nah,” he answered, closing the door with his hip since his hands were full. “We had a cook—Mrs. Pan—who was like a miracle worker in the kitchen. Mom spent most of her time at the office with Dad. She had this knack for working the stock market and making money. And Dad could take what she earned and put it into the physical stuff, you know, buying companies and making profits from them. God…” He paused at the counter with a nostalgic smile as he shook his head. “They made an awesome business team. I didn’t really realize how awesome of a team they made until I started working at JFI.”
I watched his smile die when he focused on the butter tub and cheese he’d set on the counter beside me. The way he missed his mother was practically tangible. I wondered if I touched his skin in that moment, would I actually feel the ache?
Because I wanted to share it with him, I reached out and set my hand on his forearm. He glanced at me sharply.
“You miss her a lot.”
“Yeah.” His voice sounded rusty, so he cleared it and glanced away, wiping his hands on his hips. “It’s hard not to. She was the best. Where do you keep your bread?”
I patted his arm gently before pointing toward a cabinet across the room. “In there.”
He smiled at me as if thanking me for the comfort, only to remove my hand from him, then kiss my knuckles and set them in my lap. Then he left me to retrieve the bread.
“All you have is wheat bread?” he asked a moment later, pulling the loaf from the cabinet and facing me with a cringe.
“What?” I shrugged defensively. “It’s healthier.”
“Uh huh. Is that why it’s sitting next to cheese puffs, chocolate bars, sugar cookies, and a bag of Doritos?”
“Hey, I gotta balance out somewhere.”
Laughing, he shook his head. “Just when I think you can’t get any cuter,” he murmured, returning to me before asking where the butter knives were stored.
I merely swung my feet and grinned, feeling good—feeling great—as I watched him hunt through my drawers until he found a knife. Seriously, who knew watching a man navigate his way around my kitchen would be so hot? Maybe it was the shirtless, pantless aspect that made it so nice. But I sure did enjoy the show.
He found a pan in the warming drawer under the oven and set it on the stove before turning the heat up. The bending-down-to-fetch-it was my favorite part. But I also got a little mesmerized with watching his back muscles shift and bunch after he straightened and reached for the heating knobs. I figured I had it really bad when I even enjoyed the bulge in his arms when he used the non-stick spray to grease the bottom of the pan.
