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He stares at me, almost like I have two heads. “You offer to cook dinner for everyone who comes over?”
“I mean, yeah, but this would be real nice, I think. I can go to the store and get some stuff you’d really like.”
He looks unsure, but nods his head. “Sure, I guess that would be nice.”
I grin and then his phone buzzes. He glances down at it and then runs a hand down his face.
“Break’s over.”
I stand up as he does, and his hand moves to my chest, fiddling with the pocket on my overalls.
“Where’s McMuffin?”
“She didn’t wanna come with me today. Sometimes the tractor can really make her nervous.”
He huffs a laugh and then glances around the backroom before standing on his tiptoes and pressing a small kiss to my cheek.
“Fuck you, Jimbob,” he whispers.
“Sure hope so,” I say with a grin.
He snorts a small laugh and then peeks up at me. “Get out of here, big guy. I’ll see you soon.”
And then he turns on his heels and is gone.
I might have overdone it, I think as I look at the flowers sitting in a vase on my table and my late grandma’s china I took out of the attic and washed. Not to mention the wine I bought. Virginia at the food mart gave me a knowing look while I was standing in her line.
“You got someone special coming over tonight?” she asked me, and in response, I just muttered a bunch of nothing until I got out of there.
I mean, I would love to tell the world what Braxton and I are, but even I don’t know what we’d be labeled as. I just hope I get to hold him again and maybe even touch him, run my hands across his bare skin.
My dick hardens at the thought, and I adjust myself, the apron hiding most of the evidence of my current arousal.
A moment later, the doorbell rings and Abra-ham squeals, trotting to the front door and making such a fuss that I open it in a rush. I see Braxton standing there, his hand cradling a box of something.
He hands me the item and then scoops the mini pig up, nuzzling him slightly before turning those dark eyes on me.
“I brought you something,” he says.
“What is it?”
“A pie. Got it in town before I came over.”
The thought that he went out of his way to bring me something like this makes my heart nearly pound out of my chest.
“It’s, uh, blueberry.”
I beam. “I’ll love it.”
He shifts on his feet and then steps into the house. “Smells real good in here,” he says softly, and I beam.
“Might have gone a bit overboard. Come on,” I say, shutting the front door and leading him to the kitchen. Grabbing the wine from the fridge, I uncork it and pour him a glass.
“Got it real dry for you. Basically not sweet at all.”
He smirks at that and sets Abra-ham down before taking a sip.
“Hm. I guess that works. Never had wine before.”
