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I grinned. “Always.”
Chapter Five
Diego
The scentof musty paper filled my nose. I gingerly flipped a page of the cookbook in front of me on the counter, careful not to damage it. My mother’s perfect handwriting, along with other scrawls from generations of family members before her, filled the pages, sometimes accompanied by drawings or photographs.
It’d been some time since I’d seen this. I knew my dad wouldn’t have tossed it. To this day, he still had almost everything that had belonged to her, just all stored away. I expected this book to be with those boxes. But I found it on his bookshelf while cleaning.
I wondered, as I flipped another page, how often he took it out and looked through it like this. I knew I couldn’t ask him. To this day, he still struggled with the reality that my mom was gone. It was like a part of him still expected she’d waltz through the door and act like she’d just been on some extended health trip.
I rubbed my forehead and shook my head. My dreams were bleeding into my reality. I’d seen her again, doing just that. However, I’d also seen Astrid sprout silver and gold wings from her back and take to the skies.They’re just weird dreams. Stop lingering on them like they were real.
A page flipped on me, and the revealed recipe gave me pause. My fingers ran along the neatly written ink detailing a paella dish—my favorite dish that she would make. Not because it was some complicated, ultra-special meal, even though it was a special family recipe, but because Dad and she would always make it together. And he hadn’t made it since her passing.
Sure, we’d had similar dishes, but not this one.
The sound of something snapping, and then someone chewing, drew my attention away. Astrid walked into the kitchen, munching on a carrot stick with her nose in a book. A burly, half-naked man posed on the cover.
“Are you reading Scarlett Summers’ book again?” I asked, fake-exasperated.
Her eyes flicked up from her reading, and my pulse skipped. Her soul-piercing look sliced through me. “Don’t you be making fun of me. It’s damned good.”
Aya poked her head over the loft and called down, “Is that the new bestseller everyone is raving about?”
Astrid nodded. “The Berserker Who Loved Me. It’s as good as everyone says.”
“Since you’re reading it again, it has to be.” She smirked. “What are your thoughts on it, Diego?”
I shrugged. “She won’t give me the damned thing to read and find out.”
Astrid stuck her tongue out. “Get your own copy. This is my special signed copy. No one gets to touch it.”
Snaking my arm around her waist, I pulled her against my chest. Even with our height discrepancy, her body molded into mine perfectly. I bent close to her ear, her scent, lavender and vanilla, teasing and stirring. “We could read it together.”
She paused, raising an eyebrow at me. “Read together? With your slow-ass pace? I don’t think so.”
I grinned. “Or maybe you should slow down. Savor and indulge in every moment instead of racing to the climax.”
My fingers slid along her side, finding a portion of exposed skin where her shirt rose above the shorts she wore over her shapely hips, and glided along her enticing softness. One thing I was was an attentive lover. And I’d be more than happy to show her exactly what that meant.
With my other hand, I spread her book open more, slow and deliberate, and peered at the passages on the pages.
My lips brushed Astrid’s ear, and I dipped my voice to a huskier tone I knew she’d enjoy. “His large, calloused hands pinned my wrist above my head, and he raked his gaze over my naked flesh, drinking me in. Heat pooling in my core spread through me like wildfire, setting me ablaze with desire. I craved his touch—his worship—like the goddess he claimed me to be.”
Astrid snapped the book shut, cutting me off, and Aya snickered. “Getting too X-rated for you, Astrid?”
Astrid placed the book down on the island and walked to the fridge without replying. I glanced up at Aya, who winked and disappeared to go back to her work.
I grinned. I didn’t know what changed, but whatever was allowing me to get to Astrid so easily now, I was thankful for. Soon I’d get her to see how perfect we could be, and how serious I was about her.
Astrid poured herself a glass of orange juice, and then noticed the abandoned cookbook. “What’s that?”
“Family cookbook I found while cleaning.”
She leaned on the counter to take a closer look. “I’ve never seen you or your dad use this one before.”
I drew up next to her. “It belonged to my mom.”
