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He tipped the glasses up to her forehead. “You sure are.” He held her face in his hands as if it were a delicate bird’s nest. “What’s going on?”
“No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”
“Like what? Go on a road trip with you?”
“It’s not that.” A Jeep passed by, the music blasting, kayaks latched to the roof. “Come on.”
They climbed back into his SUV. The scent of sugar and butter filled the car, and he turned on the air-conditioning to keep the pastries fresh. “Talk to me.” He pulled away from the curb and joined the light morning traffic in this tiny mountain town.
“You know how it goes in big families. There’s one big party for all the December birthdays, and your parents can’t go to everyone’s games and recitals, so they only show up every once in a while.” She gazed out the window, those damn glasses back in place. “You know that feeling where you’re in a recital, you’re up on stage, and you keep looking for them in the crowd. You don’t even hear what’s going on because you’re so focused on spotting them. You don’t give up hoping they’ll be there until you’re off the stage, and everyone else is getting hugs and bouquets, and you’re just standing there all alone feeling like an idiot.”
He could picture his sunshiny girl scanning the crowd, body tense with anticipation and hope, and he wanted to hug the loneliness right out of her, let her know he would wear a neon shirt with bells and flashing lights so she could always find him in an audience.
I will always be there for you.
He turned off Main Street to make the long winding trek back to their remote cabin.
“But I guess, if I’m honest, none of that matters as much as the fact that no one cared about my interest in making pastries. I used to bring my mom sand cakes decorated with shells and seaweed. I had a lemonade stand where I sold lemon squares. Everyone knew what I loved.” She turned to him, and he nodded. “But no one ever asked me to make them anything. I mean, come on. At least ask me to make the Bûche de Noël for Christmas, right? And here, you’ve planned this trip for me.” She lifted the bakery box.
He couldn’t drive, not when she was practically weeping, so he pulled off the dirt road and parked inside a copse of trees. Cutting the engine, he felt cocooned in this cool, covered space. He pulled off her sunglasses to look into hazel eyes filled with affection.
For me.
She set her hand on his arm. “You just make me feel so special.”
“You are special. You’re so special.” Should he do it now? He had a whole thing prepared, but should he just go for it?
“I think…I think I love you.” She blinked back tears. “Is it too soon to say that?”
“No. God, no.” Yes, he’d do it now. Fuck the rose petals and the candles. Fuck his plans.
But her mood changed, and she broke into a smile. “Do you hear that sound?”
With the windows open, he heard birds trilling, leaves shushing in a gentle breeze, and the ticking of his engine. “What do you hear?”
“This fig tart begging to be tasted.” She opened the lid and lifted out the pastry, taking a small bite. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh. My. God.” She brought it to his mouth, her hand underneath in case a slice of fresh fig fell off.
He enjoyed the sweet flavor, but it was nothing compared to the utter joy of watching her eat. “It’s good.”
She picked up a profiterole. “Let’s try this one.” After taking a tiny bite, she seemed disappointed.
“Not good?”
“Hm. Something’s just not right. Here.” With a teasing smile, she swiped the filling and painted his lips with it. “Let’s try it this way.” As she licked the whipped cream off, she clutched the back of his head and shifted over, straddling him. “Mm. So much better.”
He chased her lips for more kisses, but she sat back.
“It makes me wonder…” She picked up the box and sorted through the pastries. “How much better would it taste here?” She pulled his T-shirt up and off, flinging it into the backseat. Then, she set a strawberry slice on his collarbone and sucked it into her mouth, licking the juice off his skin.
“All summer long, you’ve been trying to get me to taste your goodies.” He grabbed her hips and settled her over his hard cock. “I’m hungry now, Gracie. Real hungry.”
“I thought you said this trip was all about me?” She smoothed dulce de leche cream over his nipples and then lapped it up with her pretty pink tongue.
“Fuck, Gracie. Give me that cream, and I’ll make itallabout you.” He couldn’t resist squeezing her ass cheeks. “Pull up your shirt. Let me see your tits.”
As soon as she sat up and yanked it over her head, he filled his palms with her lace-covered breasts. Now would not be a good time to ask her, but all he could think about was the ring waiting in his pocket. He pushed her breasts together and jiggled them, loving the wobble and bounce. “Tonight, I’m gonna fuck these.” He could see it, too. See his slick cock gliding through that deep valley.
Her lids lowered, her mouth went all pouty and soft, and she reached for a cannoli. “I always wanted to make this for the bakery. I mean, we’re Renzo’s. We should be making Italian desserts. Let’s taste it.” She swiped a finger through the cream and held it out to him. Grabbing her wrist, he sucked it into his mouth, licking it clean. “I like that. Let me try.”
