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“Nothing.”
“So you’re just enjoying the view, doll?”
“Oh yeah, just imagining all the other things I’ll have you cook for me.”
Prescott chuckles, “If I were you, I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” He looks down at the dough. “How about this? Good enough?”
I give the mass a critical look, trying to remember how it looked when Mom made it the last time. “I guess so.”
Hopping off the stool, I grab the knife and cut it into pieces, putting them on the tray and adding a glaze over it before popping them into the oven and setting the timer.
“Now we wait,” I say, turning around.
Prescott is sitting in the chair I vacated, a coffee mug in his hand. He extends his hand toward me, and I place mine in his, letting him tug me closer. He spreads his legs so that I can settle between them. Placing my hand over the one holding the mug, I lift it so I can take a sip.
“Why were you really up at the crack of dawn?” Prescott asks, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
I should have figured out he wouldn’t let it go just like that. “I told you. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Bad dreams?”
I look away. It was unnerving how well he knew me. How easily he could read me. My emotions. My fears. Everything.
Prescott slides his fingers under my chin and turns me to face him.
“It’s hard. Being back here, especially after everything that has happened recently.”
Prescott nods. “It’s the same for me. The moment I step into the house, it’s like I’m flooded with memories.”
I cover his hand with mine, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not all bad; more bitter-sweet in a way. Sometimes a memory would sneak up on me, a memory I forgot. Yes, the blow is brutal that first moment, overwhelming in so many ways, but there is also some solace in it. I don’t ever want to forget Gabriel, so I’ll take any pain I have to in order to keep his memory alive, no matter how hard it might be for me.” His expression turns distant as he retreats in his head, lost in his memories. “I wish I could go home more, but my parents… It’s just not worth it, you know?”
Yeah, I knew what he meant. There was no way I’d forget the way his parents treated him anytime soon. His dad was a piece of work, and his mom didn’t do anything to stop him from bashing Prescott. How can you just stand by and let your husband treat your son so poorly?
“They don’t deserve you.”
“I didn’t make it easy on them.”
I shake my head. I’ll be damned if I let him talk about himself that way. “The way they treat you isn’t your burden to bear. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re their child, just like Gabriel was.”
“That’s the problem, doll. I survived, while he didn’t. I exist, I should have been the one who died, and everybody would be happier.”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong. I wouldn’t be happier.” Moving closer, I cup his cheeks and press my forehead against his. “You’re worthy of love, Prescott Wentworth. Don’t you ever doubt that.”
Before he can protest, I press my mouth against his, kissing him softly. I move closer, snuggling into his heat as my mouth slides over his. A low rumble comes from deep in his chest as his hands glide down my sides, fingers digging into my hips as he pulls me closer, deepening the kiss.
There is nothing like kissing Prescott Wentworth. It’s sweetness and heat, an exciting new adventure, and coming home all wrapped up in one.
I run my fingers through his hair, feeling its softness as I tug his head back, my tongue demanding entrance into his mouth. Shivers run down my spine as our tongues swirl together, the need pooling between my thighs.
The doorbell rings just as the timer goes off on the oven. Groaning, I pull back. “I’ll get the door; you get the scones?”
“It can wait.”
“Umm, I don’t think you want to eat burnt scones, mister.”
He shakes his head, his grip on me tightening. “I don’t give a crap about scones.”
