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“I told you, I don’t drink.”
“Like ever?”
“Yeah.”
There’s obviously more she wants to ask, but instead she takes a sip of her wine while looking over all the sticky notes.
“Maggie’s profiteroles are the best.”
“They’re dessert, though…right?”
An amused expression lights up her face as she opens the Tupperware and puts two small pastries on her plate. After taking a bite of one, she offers me the other half.
A devious glint shines in her eyes as I bite into the pastry, surprised by the savory flavor of it.
“These crab and chive ones are my favorite. And you know, if I really liked you, I would’ve given you the first bite.”
“Are you teasing me?”
“Not at all.”
“You’re wrong, anyway”—I shrug, topping up her drink—“it’s ‘the first cut is the deepest’ and ‘the last bite will keep you coming back for more.’”
“That’s up to the individual.” Rosie laughs, her eyes following my hand as I put the wine bottle down.
Before she asks about the scar that runs from my first knuckle to the top of my thumb, I take a bite of the second crab puff and offer her the last bite.
“Who’s got the crush now, Hotshot?” she laughs with a victorious grin tugging at one side of her mouth.
The temptation is too much, and before I overthink it, I double down with a kiss, drinking down the sigh that escapes her. Whatever this is feels too good to second guess. It feels too natural and too right. Too much of everything I never knew I wanted until now.
The knock at the front door sends the kids wild. Blaire and Brooks run ahead while Blakely walks in step with me, reminding me of Maggie’s warning before she left.
“No funny business, Uncle Brody.”
“Funny business? Me?”
Leveling me with an admonishing tilt of her face, she lets out a big huff that needs no words to convey what she’s thinking. The girl is mature beyond her years. The more time I spend with her, the more she reminds me of Maggie when we were kids. She was always the mommy, even though she was the middle child. Of the three children, she’s also the one that looks the most like her mom with her dark hair and dark eyes. Even the serious set of her lips.
The other two wildlings open the door to Rosie and the instant I set eyes on her, my chest squeezes at the sight. Her long hair is knotted on top of her head in a loose bun. While the white t-shirt she’s wearing beneath her oversized gray cardigan skims the natural, generous curves of her body down to the denim shorts that showcase shapely legs I love wrapped around me.
“Hey,” she smiles up at me once the kids have greeted her and ran back into the family room.
Hooking my fingertips with hers, I tug her to me with a quick peck to her nose. As always, her face draws into a scrunched giggle that causes my breath to catch. The sound gets me every time, and as always, I kiss the tip of her nose again to hear it one more time before my mouth finds hers.
“Hey yourself,” I tell her between kisses and light tickles to her waist that have her melting into me. There’s no way I can pretend that I haven’t been looking forward to this all day, and from her soft hum and the drape of her arms around my neck, it’s clear she has too.
“Ahem!” A stern little voice calls from behind me. “Funny business!”
As much as I try to ignore the little goody two-shoes, Rosie pulls away with a low, bashful chuckle. That sound is Blakely’s saving grace and the reason she still gets popcorn and ice cream for the movie.
“Do I need to make a poster?” She levels me with a glare when I turn to look at her. “Or maybe I should write it on your forehead?”
“How can I see the reminder if it’s on my forehead?” I tease her, lacing my hand with Rosie’s and leading us into the family room.
Spinning on her heels with an exaggerated flick of her hair, she looks over her shoulder with a head-to-toe glance. “You look in the mirror often enough.”
Little— “You got me, B. Got me so good.”
