Page 72 of Tempted By Her

Lark glanced around a few times before dumping the tortilla chips and the little cup of salsa into the third box and closing it.

“Smart,” I told her.

“I didn’t want it to go to waste,” she said.

This time Lark fought me for the check, and she won.

By the time we got home with our books and bags and ingredients for margaritas, I was almost too tired to make them.

Lark seemed to have more energy than I did, so she was the one who pulled out the blender and got the drinks going while I collapsed on the couch with Clementine and one of my new books.

“Your margarita, ma’am,” she said, handing me a glass that was almost too full.

I took it from her, being careful not to spill. She sat down next to me with a sigh and kicked her feet up on the coffee table.

“Perfect book crawl,” she said, holding her drink toward me.

Very carefully, I touched my glass to hers. “Perfect book crawl,” I echoed.

Lark drank her margarita too fast and grimaced with a brain freeze.

“Slow down there,” I told her, sipping mine more moderately.

“I’m good,” Lark said, massaging her forehead and then draining the glass before snuggling next to me.

“I like doing random things with you,” she said as she let out a little sigh. More interested in her than my drink, I set it aside and put my arms around her.

I liked doing everything with her, but I didn’t say that out loud. Instead I played with her hair and basked in the feel of her in my arms.

“Thanks for letting me live here,” she said in a soft voice a few minutes later.

“Thanks for moving in,” I said.

“I will deny that I said this, but I’m almost glad that the chicken house burned down. I’m not glad for Lorna, but she had insurance on it, and she honestly didn’t seem that upset about it. She used the payout to buy this upscale chicken coop.”

I snorted. That sounded exactly like something she would do.

“Remind me that we should go over there and get some eggs,” I said.

“Good idea. I’ll ask Layne if she can teach me how to make quiche.”

“Fuck, I love quiche,” I said.

“Speaking of quiche,” Lark said, getting up and going to the pile of bags that we’d set near the door.

She pulled the burrito blankets out and held them up.

“How is that speaking of quiche?” I asked as she started ripping into the packages.

“Quiche, tortillas, there’s a connection,” she said, tossing one of the blankets at me. I put my hand out so it didn’t hit me in the face.

Lark rejoined me and unfurled her blanket dramatically before wrapping it around herself.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Fucking adorable,” I said. She giggled and climbed onto my lap.

“Mmmmm mmm mmmmm mmmmmm,” she said.

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