and did a double take. “Whoa.”
“I usually eat a little slower, but everything was so awesome, it’s taking all my willpower not to lick every last atom of food from the ceramic.”
“Thanks. And you get to pick the rating for the night. If you’re set on PG-13, there’s ice cream cake in the fridge. You’ll save me a piece, right?”
She stuck her tongue out at him but glided around the island to retrieve the cake then stared at it. “I can’t make any promises. I’m hearing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ Did you make this, too?”
“Dairy Queen gets the credit for that one.”
“Too bad. A homemade ice cream cake just might be enough to get me to say yes to a marriage proposal one of these days.”
I’ll keep that in mind
.
Wait a minute
.
“How many proposals have you had so far?”
“Four. Five.” She glanced at the ceiling as if doing the mental math then nodded. “Five.”
“
Five?
You’re twenty-three.”
She gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged. “College. Besides, I’m pretty sure one or two weren’t really serious about it.” She concentrated on cutting two pieces of cake as if her words were no big deal.
Five proposals. He’d only been fairly serious with two women before in his life. A naïve college crush that crumbled upon graduation, and most recently, a naïve infatuation with a reporter who turned out to be Satan herself. Then finally Saralynn, who felt more right than anyone, but what chance did he have with a past like hers?
She looked up from plating the melting cake slices and pressed her lips together. “I freaked you out.”
He wanted to deny it and tried to, but the words didn’t come fast enough.
“You know I’m not super proud of my past. I led guys on, and I feel terrible about it, but that’s not me anymore. I’m not saying I’m ready to get married or anything, but I’m not just wasting time with you. That came out wrong. What I mean is, I used to be closed off to even the possibility of love. And I’m not now. At least not entirely.”
She was so serious, smiling seemed like the wrong thing to do, but he couldn’t help it. He circled the counter and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her against him at the hip. “You say you don’t ramble often?”
“I would hit you, but my hands are dripping with ice cream, and that looks like an expensive shirt.”
He leaned in, nudged her nose with his, then kissed her. It started slow and sweet then picked up some steam. Her arms went around his neck as she swayed into him. A few cold drops hit the back of his neck, and he jerked back before remembering the ice cream on her fingers.
“Guess we should eat it before it’s soup.” She nodded toward the plates, where the icing was sliding off the cake.
Words eluded him. His brain was still stuck on the possibilities born from that kiss, so he bobbed his head a few times to offer some form of response. Her smile let him know she enjoyed the effect she had, and she proceeded to lick her hands clean with innocence in her big, doe eyes. A small, strangled sound came from his throat. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?” She blinked at him, fanning long, dark lashes before diving into her slice of half-melted cake. The red icing smeared across her lips, and she looked a little like a hyena devouring a fallen gazelle as she inhaled the dessert. It took some of the edge off, and he laughed. One second unbelievably sexy and the next a relatable goofball. That seemed like good relationship material.
While he polished off his own slice, she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin but didn’t quite get it all. “You missed a little … ”
She tried again to no avail. He reached over and brushed the corner of her mouth, getting the last of the icing, but before he could pull back, she caught his thumb between her lips and the tip of her tongue flicked against it.
He released a slow breath. “You’re killing me here.”
He wasn’t
“I usually eat a little slower, but everything was so awesome, it’s taking all my willpower not to lick every last atom of food from the ceramic.”
“Thanks. And you get to pick the rating for the night. If you’re set on PG-13, there’s ice cream cake in the fridge. You’ll save me a piece, right?”
She stuck her tongue out at him but glided around the island to retrieve the cake then stared at it. “I can’t make any promises. I’m hearing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ Did you make this, too?”
“Dairy Queen gets the credit for that one.”
“Too bad. A homemade ice cream cake just might be enough to get me to say yes to a marriage proposal one of these days.”
I’ll keep that in mind
.
Wait a minute
.
“How many proposals have you had so far?”
“Four. Five.” She glanced at the ceiling as if doing the mental math then nodded. “Five.”
“
Five?
You’re twenty-three.”
She gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged. “College. Besides, I’m pretty sure one or two weren’t really serious about it.” She concentrated on cutting two pieces of cake as if her words were no big deal.
Five proposals. He’d only been fairly serious with two women before in his life. A naïve college crush that crumbled upon graduation, and most recently, a naïve infatuation with a reporter who turned out to be Satan herself. Then finally Saralynn, who felt more right than anyone, but what chance did he have with a past like hers?
She looked up from plating the melting cake slices and pressed her lips together. “I freaked you out.”
He wanted to deny it and tried to, but the words didn’t come fast enough.
“You know I’m not super proud of my past. I led guys on, and I feel terrible about it, but that’s not me anymore. I’m not saying I’m ready to get married or anything, but I’m not just wasting time with you. That came out wrong. What I mean is, I used to be closed off to even the possibility of love. And I’m not now. At least not entirely.”
She was so serious, smiling seemed like the wrong thing to do, but he couldn’t help it. He circled the counter and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her against him at the hip. “You say you don’t ramble often?”
“I would hit you, but my hands are dripping with ice cream, and that looks like an expensive shirt.”
He leaned in, nudged her nose with his, then kissed her. It started slow and sweet then picked up some steam. Her arms went around his neck as she swayed into him. A few cold drops hit the back of his neck, and he jerked back before remembering the ice cream on her fingers.
“Guess we should eat it before it’s soup.” She nodded toward the plates, where the icing was sliding off the cake.
Words eluded him. His brain was still stuck on the possibilities born from that kiss, so he bobbed his head a few times to offer some form of response. Her smile let him know she enjoyed the effect she had, and she proceeded to lick her hands clean with innocence in her big, doe eyes. A small, strangled sound came from his throat. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?” She blinked at him, fanning long, dark lashes before diving into her slice of half-melted cake. The red icing smeared across her lips, and she looked a little like a hyena devouring a fallen gazelle as she inhaled the dessert. It took some of the edge off, and he laughed. One second unbelievably sexy and the next a relatable goofball. That seemed like good relationship material.
While he polished off his own slice, she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin but didn’t quite get it all. “You missed a little … ”
She tried again to no avail. He reached over and brushed the corner of her mouth, getting the last of the icing, but before he could pull back, she caught his thumb between her lips and the tip of her tongue flicked against it.
He released a slow breath. “You’re killing me here.”
He wasn’t
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