Chapter 11 #3
“Sounds like a date.” He smiles, moving towards me. “What are you making?”
“Shepherd’s pie.” I walk over to the refrigerator, grateful for something to focus on besides the way he’s looking at me, but he follows closely behind me, pulling out ingredients of his own.
He’s so near I can smell his woodsy body soap, and along with the way he just called it a date, my heart is doing a little flutter.
“Mom made extra mashed potatoes and ground beef yesterday. I just need to layer everything and heat it up.”
“I like your cooking,” he observes.
I pause, turning to look at him. “When have you ever eaten anything I’ve made?”
He shrugs, pulling mugs from the cabinet. “Where do you think your missing lunches went from the fridge?”
My jaw drops. “You’re my lunch thief?”
His smile turns charming, completely unrepentant. “I always made up for it by buying you lunch as an apology. From your favorite restaurants no less.”
“I thought you were doing that to make me feel better!” I stare at him, torn between outrage and disbelief. “You were covering your tracks!”
“Smart, wasn’t I?”
I pick up a wooden spoon and point it at him. “You’re going to pay for that.”
He crosses to me in two strides, catching my hand and bringing it to his lips. He presses a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m looking forward to it.”
My face turns red. I pull my hand away before I can do something stupid like kiss him and ask, “What are you making?”
“Hot chocolate.” He returns to the stove, pouring milk into a saucepan. “With peppermint. I watched your mother make it this morning, and I’m trying to replicate it.”
Something warm blooms in my chest at the image of him paying attention to Mom’s cooking. “She crushes the candy canes really finely. Otherwise, they don’t melt properly.”
“I know. I was taking notes.”
We work in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I layer the meat, vegetables, and mashed potatoes into a baking dish while Alexander crushes candy canes. The kitchen fills with the scent of browning meat and peppermint, savory and sweet mixing together.
The shepherd’s pie goes into the oven, and I set the timer before washing my hands at the sink. When I turn around, Alexander is holding out a gingerbread cookie—one of the ones Mom made this morning before we left for Asheville.
“Want one?” he offers.
“My hands are still wet,” I say, reaching for the dish towel.
Without missing a beat, he brings the cookie to my lips. “Then I’ll feed you.”
My heart does a ridiculous flutter as I take a bite, the spiced sweetness of molasses and ginger melting on my tongue.
But before I can finish chewing, Alexander leans down and bites the other half of the cookie still sticking out of my mouth.
His lips brush mine as he takes it, and I freeze, my eyes going wide.
He pulls back with a satisfied smile, chewing slowly while I stand there like an idiot, my face burning.
“Stop that,” I manage to say around the cookie crumbs.
“Stop what?” His thumb brushes across my cheek, wiping away stray crumbs, and the gentle touch makes my stomach flip.
“That. This. All of it.” I gesture vaguely between us, flustered. “You’re being—”
“Charming?” he supplies helpfully.
“Alexander,” I give him a reproachful look.
“Sorry.” He leans down and kisses me, soft and sweet, his lips gentle against mine. I sigh against his mouth, my irritation melting away like sugar in hot water. When he pulls back, I’m left standing there feeling dazed and warm all over. He’s just not going to listen. I don’t know why I bother.
“I ran into a friend of yours today,” he says, reaching for something on the counter. “Avery Bloom?”
The name hits me like a splash of cold water. “Avery? Really?”
“She owns a bookshop on Main Street. The Winter Quill. She wanted to see you. Asked me to give you this.” He points towards a bag on the kitchen table.
I open it and see two books. Since I hate gardening, Avery wouldn’t send that to me, though it does look like it would suit my mom.
I pause, considering. Did Alex—? It’s the other one.
I take out the book, my fingers tracing over the familiar cover.
Winter’s Promise by A.J. Blackwood. The newest release.
My smile broadens as I look down at the cover, something warm and knowing settling in my chest.
“What?” Alexander asks, watching my expression.
“Nothing.” I set the book down carefully on the counter, like it is something precious. “I just—I haven’t talked to her in over a year.”
“Why not?” There’s genuine curiosity in his voice, no judgment.
I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms. The oven hums behind me, filling the kitchen with savory smells. “All my friends were Chase’s friends, too. After the breakup, no one reached out. I just assumed they took his side.”
Alexander’s expression shifts, something hardening in his eyes. “That’s not like you.”
“What?”
“To assume.” He moves closer. “You’re one of the most analytical people I know. You don’t jump to conclusions. You gather evidence.”
I pause, his words settling over me. He’s right, and I hate that he can see through me so clearly.
“Chase is the golden boy here,” I say quietly. “His parents are doctors—successful, respected. He’s the only vet in town. Everyone loves him.” My voice drops. “Having him cheat on me made me feel small. Like I wasn’t good enough.”
Alexander lifts his hand as if to touch me, but I shake my head quickly.
“I know it’s not true,” I say. “I know that logically. But everybody in this town loves Chase, and I just—I pulled away. It was easier than risking more rejection.”
His expression softens. “Well, one of them still misses you.”
Something warm blooms in my chest. “I’ll go see her soon.”
I wash my hands again, then move to check on the shepherd’s pie through the oven window. Almost ready. I pull it out and set it on the stovetop to cool, the golden-brown top perfectly bubbled and crispy around the edges.
Alexander has finished stirring the hot chocolate, and he pours it into two mugs, the steam rising with the scent of peppermint and chocolate. He brings them to the kitchen table while I serve generous portions of the shepherd’s pie onto plates.
We sit across from each other at the worn oak table, and for a moment it’s just the comfortable sounds of eating—forks scraping plates, mugs being set down, satisfied sighs.
“This is good,” Alexander says between bites.
“Thanks.” I take a sip of hot chocolate. “So is this. You nailed Mom’s recipe.” He looks pleased, and I try not to find that endearing.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and I’m surprised by how natural this feels. Sitting at my parents’ kitchen table with Alexander, eating food we made together, the Christmas lights from the neighbor’s house casting soft colors through the window.
It’s domestic in a way that should feel strange, but doesn’t.
“You know,” I say, breaking the silence, “Amber isn’t going to let this go. My destroying her phone. She’ll try to get even with me.”
“She can try.” Alexander sips his hot chocolate.
“Don’t go picking fights with her and Chase,” I say firmly as I pick up my plate and head over to the sink. “Please. I’m not going to stoop to their level, and I don’t want you to, either.”
“You threw her phone in the fishtank, Olivia,” he reminds me.
“That was different,” I mutter. “It was in the heat of the moment.”
“Should I guard my phone around you from now on?” he asks, and I turn to snap at him only to see his lips curved.
He’s teasing me. Jerk.
“Alexander.” I make a face. “Just do what I’m asking. Don’t pick fights with them, okay?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His tone is perfectly innocent, which immediately makes me suspicious.
“Alexander—”
“I ran into Chase today, actually.” He leans back in his chair, stretching his long legs out under the table. “He told me you’re using me. That I’m just a rebound.”
My eyes widen, anger flooding hot through my veins. “He what? How dare he—”
Alexander’s expression shifts, and for a moment, he actually looks hurt. “He seemed pretty certain about it.” The look on his face makes something twist painfully in my chest. I forget, just for a moment, that this relationship started as pretend.
I walk over to him without thinking. “That’s not true.”
Before I can say anything else, his hands shoot out and grab my waist, pulling me down onto his lap. I land with a soft gasp, and when I look down at him, he’s grinning.
“Well,” he says, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “If you say so. I believe you.”
My face turns nuclear. “You jerk!” I try to squirm off his lap, but his arms tighten around me, holding me in place.
“Stop squirming,” he warns, his voice dropping to that dangerous register, “unless you want a repeat of what happened in your bedroom.”
I freeze, my face burning. “You wouldn’t.”
His hand comes up to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his. His eyes are dark, intense, focused on me with that same consuming attention.
“I told you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “There’s no going back.”
The words settle over me like a weight, and I feel something shift inside—a resistance crumbling that I didn’t even know I was holding onto.
My breath catches, and suddenly I’m acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch, the feel of his palm against my jaw, the way his eyes have darkened with want.
“Alexander,” I whisper, and it comes out breathy, almost pleading. My hands rest on his chest, not pushing away but not pulling closer either, caught in this impossible moment. “What are you doing?”
His thumb traces along my lower lip slowly, deliberately. “What do you think I’m doing?”
I can’t answer. Can’t think. My mind has gone hazy, my body responding to him in ways that bypass all logic and reason. I’m caught in his orbit, unable to break free, unsure if I even want to.
Then he’s kissing me, and it’s dark and possessive, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my toes curl. His hand tightens on my jaw, angling my head exactly how he wants it, and I melt against him with a soft sound.
His other hand slides under my sweater, palm hot against my spine, pulling me closer. I can feel him hardening beneath me, and heat pools low in my belly.
His hand moves higher, fingers finding the clasp of my bra. He flicks it open with practiced ease, and then his palm is cupping my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple through the thin fabric.
I gasp against his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his kiss turning more demanding. His fingers roll my nipple, sending sparks of pleasure straight through me, and I arch into his touch without thinking.
“Alexander,” I breathe against his lips, my hands fisting in his sweater. His response is to pinch my nipple gently, making me whimper. His other hand tangles in my damp hair, holding me exactly where he wants me while his mouth claims mine with an intensity that makes my head spin.
I can feel myself getting wet, my body responding to him with embarrassing eagerness. His hand on my breast is possessive, claiming, like he owns every inch of me.
Maybe he does.
The sound of the front door opening crashes through the haze of desire. I jerk back from Alexander so fast I nearly fall off his lap. He catches me, steadying me, but I’m already scrambling to my feet, my heart pounding.
Dad’s voice carries from the foyer. “Livie? You home?”
“Kitchen!” I call back, my voice only slightly strangled. I press my hands to my burning cheeks, then fumble behind my back to refasten my bra.
Alexander looks completely unruffled. He takes another sip of his hot chocolate like we weren’t just seconds away from something that would have traumatized my father.
I want to kill him.
Or kiss him again.
Possibly both.