Chapter 27
Drew
S
o many questions running through my head.
So many things I want to know about Emmett.
So little time.
Instead of returning to his spot at the counter he was leaning on before, he closes the oven beside me and steps to stand in front of me, hands resting on the counter right next to the side of my thighs this time, ready for my rapid-fire of questions.
His face is so close to mine, I can barely keep my thoughts straight.
“W-what’s your full name?”
“Emmett Theodore Ryan.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Baraboo, Wisconsin.”
“Favorite hobby?”
“Watching movies.”
“Marvel or DC?”
“Marvel.”
“Who’s your favorite Marvel character?”
“Iron Man. Also my favorite movie. I’ll give you a two for one with that one.” He winks at me, and my heart somersaults.
“T-thank you,” I somehow manage to say. “Um… Drink of choice?”
He thinks about this one for a moment.
“Old-Fashioned, bourbon, sweet.”
“Why?” I glance at the waffle iron. Still no red light.
“That’s what my dad always ordered.”
“Hmm… Favorite animal?”
“Dog.”
“Damn, you’re good at this.” And with that, the light blinks red.
“That was way less than two minutes!”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says before pushing himself off the counter, no longer close enough for me to watch his lips move. “I don’t make the rules.”
I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what you did with this game, I want to say, but I can’t manage to get the words out. My body is having so many reactions to his words, flutters in my stomach, goosebumps on my arms, and my cheeks are giving all the thoughts and feelings I’m currently having away.
After four more waffles, and two more turns each of getting to know the little things about each other, it’s finally time for our breakfast-for-dinner.
I watch as he takes the warmed waffles out of the oven and plates from the cabinet above him, setting a waffle on each one.
“What is your topping of choice?”
While I could just say I’m fine with the basics like butter and syrup, occasionally going for something a little more crazy like jelly, I go with the truth and my number one choice. “I like whipped cream.”
“Whipped cream?” He walks over to his refrigerator, and I’m waiting for a comment about how I eat like a child. But, to my surprise, I hear him say, “You’re my kind of girl,” as he opens the door to the fridge.
And I thought I felt butterflies with Reed?
That’s nothing compared to what I’ve been feeling tonight.
Emmett bends over to take a look at the shelves on the refrigerator door. “You’re in luck,” he pulls out the red and white can and walks back over to me. “I picked some up last time I was at the store.” He dolls up our plates, giving us matching smiley faces of whip cream for the both of us, smiles that don’t even measure up to the one on my face. “You’re the first person I’ve met to have the correct taste in waffle toppings.” He leans his head back to spray some of the whipped topping into this mouth, keeping his eyes locked with mine, a liveliness to them that makes the brown even richer.
He tucks the whipped cream can under his arm and grabs each plate, forks, and napkins, nodding his head to me to follow. “Come on.” I hop off the counter, letting him lead the way.
Our apartments are basically the same layout except for where I have my bookshelf he has a little breakfast nook with a table just big enough for two. I take the seat opposite of him, feeling the butterflies’ wings overpowered by the hunger my stomach won’t let me ignore any longer.
I take the first bite, the first home-cooked, non-frozen, non-processed meal I’ve had in almost two weeks and almost faint as the rich, fluffy, buttery piece of a dream hits my tongue.
“These are amazing!”
“I’m glad you like them. Glad I could make them for you.”
“I’m pretty sure I will need you to make these for me every day for the rest of my life.” Taking another bite, “Yeah, no, I’m positive I need you to make me these every day for forever.”
He lets out a chuckle. “I’d be happy to.”
Even though I’m piling on the dramatics pretty thick, just wanting to express to him how good these waffles are, I can hear a bit of truth in his voice. As if my request is actually something he would want to oblige.
We each finish our first waffles, and Emmett stands, grabbing my plate. I go to stand, but he stops me. “No, you sit. I’ll get us another.”
He comes back this time with another whipped cream smiley face, only this time one with buck teeth and eyebrows.
I laugh at the sight before digging in.
As we each take our bites, the conversation is light and surrounds how breakfast-for-dinner became a staple in his household.
“My sister was a picky eater, but she loved pancakes.” He sprays a little extra whipped cream on the last section of his waffle. “It became one of our weekly dinners.”
“Did she like whipped cream on her waffles too?”
“She was a butter and syrup person, and the kind who liked a pool of syrup.”
“Soggy pancakes?!”
“I know, disgraceful.”
My brother used to do the same thing, and I feel an ounce of sadness settle into this blissful atmosphere I am currently surrounded by. Instead of heading down that road, I keep the conversation light and ask, “Do you like pancakes or waffles better?”
“Waffles,” Emmett doesn’t even hesitate. “But it was Lennon’s world growing up, and I didn’t mind living in it.” I can tell I’m not the only one feeling the bitter sweetness of this conversation. The smile is there as Emmett talks, but there is a melancholy hue to his eyes. My heart can’t help but feel a little fuller at the thought that he is sharing this story with me. It can’t be easy to talk about his sister, and based on how he reacted when I asked about her at the bar, I don’t think he talks about her much.
“Another?” Emmett asks after taking his last bite. I look down at my empty plate, and I’m brought back into reality.
“I think I’m going to explode.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” He smirks at me. “Maybe later then.”
Heat floods to my cheeks, just when I was able to get them to cool down, at the thought that he wants there to be a later.
I hope I’m not the only one having these feelings, I think to myself as he grabs our plates and heads back to the kitchen.
We clean up the kitchen together, finding a natural rhythm and balance between conversation and me washing the bowls, plates, and utensils as he dries and puts them away. When we finish, Emmett turns off the kitchen lights, and we make the short walk to the living room and sit down on the couch.
He grabs the remote to turn on the TV, and I don’t even have to question if he wants me to stay or not.
I can’t be the only one thinking that this looks and feels like a date, and I’m glowing at the thought of the two of us spending time together getting to know each other’s favorite things and middle names,
Today has had so many ups and downs, between seeing Lacey, going to the bookstore, running into Reed, then the bar and elevator.
But right now, I can forget all of it.
I can feel normal.
Emmett and me, in this moment, are just two people enjoying each other’s company, despite the craziness that led us here. There’s a pull between us that has gotten stronger the more time we spend together, and I want to know what it will lead to.
“What do you feel like watching?” He asks staring at the TV as he scrolls through the options. His other arm finds its way behind me, resting on the couch.
“What do you feel watching?” I say in response, glancing up at him. Even seated, I have to lift my chin to look at him, and seeing him at this angle, the only light coming from the TV a few feet in front of us, highlights his strong jawline softened by the scruff that he is letting grow a little longer. His long eyelashes and full lips make my heart beat a little faster.
Emmett glances down at me, making me realize how close we are, but how much closer I want to be to him. I inch closer, finding how perfect my body fits into his.
“I don’t know if I feel like watching anything.” The words come out of his mouth as a whisper, one with an edge different than any I’ve heard from him before, along with his alluring eyes, making promises that are clear yet left unsaid.
He sets the remote down and brings his hand to the side of my face. I gasp at the warmth I feel rush through my entire body, making my stomach tighten and my heartbeat quicken even more. I feel him looking at the deepest part of me, the part that holds all my fear and everything I want to forget.
Instead of looking away, he pulls me closer, until I feel his breath hitting my lips.
When the night first started, and any other time we’ve been around each other in the last two weeks, I noticed that he was always waiting for me to make the first move, never testing how far he could get but instead waiting to follow my lead. I can tell that whatever he was holding on to before now is no longer in his grasp.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” Before I can react, his lips crash into mine, sending a jolt through my entire body as if he’s shocking my system, resetting everything I thought I knew about a kiss, showing me what it actually feels like.
One of my hands finds the side of his neck, the other finds his chest, and he is hot to the touch. His lips continue to move on mine, and the kiss warms every inch of my skin.
I never want it to stop.
Emmett brings the arm that was behind me down to my hip, pulling me closer to him. I feel pressure begin to build in my stomach, but the kind of pressure that doesn’t make me feel like drowning. Instead, it drives my senses into overload. The hand he had lightly cupped around my cheek slides down to my neck.
Then, our kiss deepens, turning more passionate and eager. I feel his tongue brush against my bottom lip, politely asking for entrance. I comply, and my lower body tightens when his tongue find mine, making me want more.
My hands find his hair, tied up but loose enough for me to pull out and run my fingers through the curls I’ve fantasized about more than I would like to admit.
So many thoughts run through my head, so many thoughts of how I want to feel him, all of him, everywhere. How kissing him makes me feel all the good things that I haven’t been able to think about until right now.
Then, there’s a knock on the door.
I freeze, and Emmett pulls away as if we were teenagers caught in the backseat of a parked car. I’m plucked out of the beautiful dream I was in and dropped back into reality. Our eyes meet, and he gives me an apologetic smile that reminds me that whatever happens when I’m with him will turn out fine.
“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is a little shaky, and he’s out of breath. I notice a redness running up his neck.
“Don’t be,” I whisper, wanting to stay in this bubble of our longer.
“Don’t move.”
He gets up to see who’s at the door, and the second his arms leave my body, the second he’s not right next to me, I’m overwhelmed with a feeling of eagerness for the moment I can be close to him again.
I turn to see his face drop the second he opens the door.
“Riley?” I hear him say.
The bubble pops.
Who’s Riley?