Chapter 17
Abraham's POV
The bell jingles over my shop’s door, and my head shoots up from where it was resting on my hand against the counter. Hope makes my heart beat faster, but it’s not Rami. Just another one of the locals.
She moves quickly through the store, purchasing a teen’s study Bible, a popular fantasy novel, and a book on parenting a troubled teen. Ringing up her items is monotonous. Even worse, she insists on telling me about her son, who is wild.
Which, of course, makes me think about the beautiful young man with eyes the color of a clear summer sky. His grandmother thinks him wild too. Not the word I’d use to describe him, though.
Curious? Yes.
Stubborn to a fault? Also yes.
Beautiful inside and out? Sigh.
Why did I push him too far and kiss him?
Why do I continually insist on going after the things I can’t—shouldn’t—have?
Nodding at the woman, I cringe as the gesture tugs on the fresh wounds along my back and shoulders.
What lesson are you trying to teach me, Lord, that you’d have me continue to make the same mistakes? Give me strength, I pray.
You do good work, my boy. Remain confident in the lessons you have learned, the familiar voice whispers in my right ear.
Once she’s gone, I push back the swinging door into the residential portion of my building, needing something to distract myself.
The aroma of tart apples, cinnamon, and warm butter fill my nose and force my shoulders to lower away from my ears.
My small, cozy kitchen sparkles brightly in the warm sunlight.
And sitting proudly in the center is the apple pie I made this morning.
I carefully slice me a piece as I hear the bell jingle in the shop. Grumbling, I ignore it as I retrieve the bowl of homemade whipped cream from the fridge to add to my slice of pie.
“Abraham?”
The soft voice makes me pause and turn my ear toward the front. It has to be a trick. My mind wishes for him to be there so much that I conjure his voice.
“Hello?” Rami’s voice filters through the misfiring synapses in my brain.
In a rush, I trip over my own feet and crash my hip into the corner of my island. “Sugar!” I shout, taking a second to breathe through the pain before rushing back into my shop.
Rami is standing on the other side of the counter, staring at me with wide eyes. His shiny blonde hair is pulled up into a messy bun, a few strands having slipped free and are framing his face. “Umm,” he stammers, nibbling on his bottom lip. “Are you okay?”
I dip my chin, not trusting my voice to not say something idiotic. Like how the way he nibbles his lip when he’s nervous makes it swell slightly and makes them even more kissable looking.
The corners of his lips twitch multiple times as if he’s fighting a smile. “Did you say ‘sugar’?” He loses the battle and a beautiful smile curls up his lips, causing his eyes to wrinkle at the corners.
I scratch the back of my neck as my cheeks heat. “Yeah,” I say, drawing out the word. “I don’t like cursing,” I whisper, feeling silly as a grown man averse to such a menial thing.
His entire face drops as a pink blush darkens his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I-I…” His hand covers his mouth, cutting off his words.
“I don’t mind others saying them,” I say, blowing him off. “What can I do for you?” It’s been almost three weeks since I last saw him. Rami never goes that long between visits. Hopefully, his absence was just because of his injury and I didn’t upset him too much the last time.
I wish I could take back the kiss.
No, you don’t. You just wish it were more consensual.
I mentally snarl at the voice, though we both know they’re right.
“Do you have any books on local wildflowers and care?”
“Flowers?” I pry. An image of a field of wildflowers in a small clearing pops into my mind, but I quickly shake it off knowing it’s too far outside of town for anyone to venture to.
He nods, his lip returning between his teeth again.
“Yeah, I do.” I slide him the plate with my slice of pie on it. “Sit and eat. I’ll grab them.”
A handsome smile tugs at his lips and draws me in. I nearly forget what he’s asked me to do. In that moment, I can almost pretend he’s mine as he willingly allows me to care for him.
He is yours. Ripe for the taking, the voice whispers in my right ear again.
“Apple pie?” he questions, chuckling lyrically as one brow rises up toward his hairline.
It takes me a second to realize what he’s implying and then I remember his constant tease regarding my love for British tea and biscuits. “Should I turn on baseball too? What’s more American than apple pie and baseball?”
Rami lifts one shoulder, his face drooping. “False democracy, crushed dreams, ridiculously priced medical care?”
I stare, simply blinking, at the brilliantly funny man in front of me.
Honestly, I’m not sure if he’s being silly or not until I see the sly glint in his eye.
The laugh catches me off guard, bubbling to the surface and shaking my entire body.
Clutching my stomach, I have to walk away so I can pull myself together and catch my breath.
It doesn’t take me long to find the section with the local flora and fauna books. I’ve been running this shop for a long time, so I’m very familiar with where everything is.
Get him a notebook too. That will really make him smile.
I grab the nicest notebook in this area with a leather cover, sturdy binding, and metal snap.
Perfect. Grab that book too.
Not sure which book the voice means, so I point at the spines until the hisses turn to a grunt. Pulling it out, I look over the book all about the medicinal uses of native plants.
Really? I ask for clarification.
Hmm, they grunt. He has a curious spirit, and with how often those boys injure him, perhaps he’ll be able to care for himself more effectively.
Almost as if we’re protecting what’s ours?
Precisely.
I smile wickedly at the inner voice, praising their genius. Taking my treasures with me back to the checkout counter, I hesitate briefly. My confidence wanes until that breath stealing smile of his rushes it all back in one whoosh.
Gently, I place the two books and notebook in front of his empty plate.
“Hated it, I see.”
He chuckles good-naturedly. “It’s probably a good thing I don’t visit more than I do, or else I’d weigh a ton.”
You’d still be beautiful, I think, thankful I have enough wherewithal to not say it out loud.
“And it was probably the best apple pie I’ve ever had. Thank you.”
I bow my head, taking the plate back into my kitchen and giving myself a moment to clear the cloudy thoughts his presence always causes me. Standing at my sink, I take a fortifying breath to fill my lungs. When I return to the shop, Rami is thumbing through the books I brought him.
“These are great, Abraham! I didn’t even think about the medicinal plants. And this notebook is stunning.”
Rami’s praise fills me and my chest pokes out further. “I thought you might like that,” I say, preening like a proud peacock. My back smarts again, deflating my chest to lessen the tug on my injured flesh.
He reaches into his messenger bag to remove his wallet, thankfully distracted from my mishap. I open my mouth to tell him that his money is no good, but he gives me a dangerous glare. Daring me to deny him this.
“Fifteen dollars.” Not the full amount—not even close—but I also know he’s on a tight budget. He’s hinted at an allowance that his grandmother gives him, though I don’t know why a man his age is on an allowance.
He continues to glare, his eyes bouncing between mine as if he’s trying to judge whether to argue with me or not. Thankfully, he caves and hands me the money.
Touch him, the voice purrs.
And I do. Touch him. As I reach for the money, I make sure our fingers brush. An image of us together flashes through my mind as the voice hums seductively.
Rami gasps and jerks his hand back as if I shocked him. “I-I need to go. Thank you again. For everything.”
Grabbing his stack of books, he turns and sprints out the door.
“Mine,” I whisper.
Ours.