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“I made key lime pie and—”
“Owen,” I yip. “Dishes.” Key lime pie? It’s like he knows my every weakness… mostly because he does.
Key lime pie might as well be my own personal aphrodisiac. My only hope is that he burnt the crust and used artificial lime flavoring.
I swallow, but my mouth has gone dry. I’m happy to see a load of dishes stacked from Owen’s cooking today. Sure, our plates and glasses can go into his near-empty dishwasher, but the rest of this, I will be washing by hand. It may take hours. And by the time the last dish gets scrubbed, I’ll be exhausted and need to go home.
Perfect.
Nothing kills the mood like caked-on grease and grime.
Surprisingly, Owen doesn’t argue. He sets up his speaker, switching the music to something slow and low, and turns the water to hot, filling the sink.
“Hey, I’m doing that,” I say. He isn’t going to ruin my plan and rush through this process. “You know where everything goes, so I’ll wash. You dry and put dishes away.”
I don’t miss the small sigh that falls from Owen’s chest. “Whatever you want, Annie.”
I pause, but only for a second, then turn back to my saving grace—the sink full of dirty dishes. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Give in to me. You always give me what I want, O.”
Owen runs a hand over his hair, his smile lop-sided. Dang that smile. “Is that really a problem?”
I smack the water off and turn to face him, hands on my hips. “Yes, it’s a problem.Cowboys.” I groan. “Rapmusic. Andbuttfries!”
“Okay, in my defense, the butt fry thing is ridiculous, and I was certain you’d grow out of it.” He leans against the counter, moving inches away from me. It wouldn’t take much for me to jump up and chest bump him this very minute.
Still, my lips twitch with his words; they want to betray me with a smile and a laugh, but I won’t let them. Instead, I say, “That’s no defense. You know how childish I am.”
“I know you’re brilliant.”
“Ha.” I roll my eyes—proving yet again that I’m not brilliant but childish. “Butt fries are brilliant?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “But that paper you wrote on ethics and journalism back in college—thatwas brilliant.”
I clamp my top teeth onto my bottom lip. “That was pretty good.”
Owen beams down at me. “It was. And that time you set up the secret Santa for the Glover family—thatwas pretty brilliant.”
I swallow. Only Owen and my sister knew about that. I didn’t want to risk the family finding out who was behind the secret gifts.
“The love, effort, and work you put into your advice each week—brilliant.”
I wet my dry lips and blink up at him.
“If you didn’t want me to fall in love with you, Annie, you should have stopped being so wonderful.”
I gulp, heart pounding. This isn’t dish doing. This isn’t up to our elbows in grease and grime. This is stupidly classic Owen—sweet as ever. “Yeah?” is all I can say. I don’t even mean to speak, but the word escapes before I can stop it.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning ever closer. His lips beckon mine. Like a lost ship out to sea, they want the lighthouse, they search for it their whole entire sailing lives. And now they have found it. It’s not my fault that Owen’s lighthouse lips are calling to mine.
The music changes to a faster beat, and it wakes me from this Owen trance.
I set both palms on Owen’s upper chest, stopping him just as his lips flutter near mine. I can almost feel them.Almost. “Dishes,” I whisper, using every ounce of energy left inside of me to turn back to the kitchen sink.
I start with the big sauce pot. This one dish alone will take me twenty minutes to scrub.
