Chapter 19 #2
She eyes her hands and then the dough. “I don’t have much confidence in myself.” Then, with flour-dusted hands, she clumsily kneads it, pushing and pulling it back to her.
With one hand, she scoops flour straight out of the bag and sprinkles it onto the counter.
Inwardly, I cringe, making a mental note to purchase a new bag of flour this week.
“Hey, Beck?” she says.
Still kneading my own dough, I lift my eyes to her. “Yeah?”
“When two loaves of bread go on a date, do you think one of them brings the other flours?” Her face is stoic as she delivers the line.
How many puns does this woman have lined up?
Sighing, I tilt my head to the side. “That’s a solid five out of ten joke.”
She rears back, causing a few pieces of hair to gracefully fall into her face, and points a dough-covered finger at me. “Oh, come on! You know you secretly love them.”
I do love them. A lot. I also love riling her up and watching the way her cheeks turn pink.
I wonder what else could make her blush like that.
Clearing my throat, I look at her over the rims of my glasses. “I think love is a strong word. More like tolerate?”
She rolls her eyes, a devilish smirk playing on her lips, and I wonder what mischief is going through her mind. Seconds later, she closes the distance between us in a few confident strides, then playfully slaps my chest, leaving a bright white handprint on my black shirt.
Without pause and without a word, she steps back to her spot at the counter and continues working on her dough.
For a moment, all I can do is gape at the handprint.
In more ways than one, Joey is leaving her mark on me. With each passing day, she’s branding herself on my soul.
Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention back to the countertop and focus on kneading.
Before long, she is wiggling her nose like she has an itch she can’t scratch and eventually gives in and uses the back of her wrist, leaving a smudge of flour on the tip.
This small, innocent moment makes my heart skip. She’s completely unaware of how charming she is.
It’s impossible to focus on my sourdough because I’m so intensely wrapped up in watching her.
Tonight, she’s wearing an oversized pink cardigan with white flowers on it.
It drapes loosely over her body while her light blue sweatpants fit snugly, accentuating her curves.
Her long auburn hair tumbles down her back in soft waves, though she’s got it pulled up in the front, leaving a few strands framing her face.
Her stunningly beautiful face.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
The way her eyebrows crease with confusion.
How she bites the inside of her lip with uncertainty.
The way her cheeks flush when she gets frustrated.
Right now, she looks so soft and at ease. My arms ache to wrap her up. To hold her snug against my chest and shield her from the cruel world and people like Norma.
Blowing a piece of hair out of her face, she peers up at me. “What’s the matter? Am I doing something wrong?”
My cheeks heat a little. Looks like I’ve been caught staring. “No.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
I inhale a deep breath and steal my nerves.
Then I say it. “I just. . .I like looking at you. That’s all.
” When the warmth in my cheeks turns into an inferno, I dip my head, keeping my focus on my dough, wishing I could take the words back and knowing that for the next week, I’ll be worrying that I made her uncomfortable.
“Could you show me how to knead again? I think I got lost along the way. My hand-eye coordination has never been the best.” Her laugh is light and airy, the sound easing my anxiety.
“Yeah. It’s like this.” I slow down my moves and show her again.
She hums. “I still don’t understand. Can you guide my hands with yours? So I can feel the motion?” She looks over at me, her eyes big and innocent, her smile sweet.
I swallow hard, my heart hammering, and it’s a battle to keep my voice steady. “Absolutely.”
On shaky legs, I shuffle up behind her but avoid touching her. Though if she wants me to guide her hands, I have to get closer.
I clear my throat. “Do you mind if I touch you? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or—”
“Please,” she interrupts, her voice barely above a whisper.
I take half a step closer, and at the first brush of contact, barely more than the fabric of my T-shirt shifting against her sweater, my breath stalls out. Joey angles back a little, closing the distance between us.
Her soft curves are now firmly pressed against me, causing heat to rush through my veins. Noticing some of her hair has slipped in front of her face, I push a few loose strands behind her shoulder, and when my fingertips graze the sensitive skin of her neck, her skin pebbles.
Hands trembling, I twine my fingers with hers.
Then I dip my head, my jaw brushing against her smooth hair.
“You move it like this.” I move her hands, rolling the dough away and then back to us once, then again.
As we work through the motion over and over, I swear sparks of electricity arc between us.
The contrast between the dark swirls of my tattoos and her pale hands should not be this arousing, yet it makes my pulse pound in my ears.
With another push of the dough, my cheek brushes hers, the rasp of my stubble against her smooth skin audible over the music.
Her breath hitches, and she leans in closer.
With each passing the second, the atmosphere charges further.
I can only see the side of her face, but I’m enraptured as she darts her tongue out, wetting her bottom lip. In response, my hands tighten around hers, and she shudders, melting deeper into my embrace.
Fuck, do I want to taste those lips. Feel them pressed against mine. Discover what kind of noises she would make as I thread my fingers through her hair and tip her head back so I can deepen the kiss.
Anticipation coils in my stomach, my body a live wire ready to explode.
Closing my eyes, I breathe her in, letting the aroma of strawberries and campfire invade my senses.
It would be so easy to kiss her breathless right here, right now.
If I don’t step away now, there will be no turning back. I don’t think I could stop myself from hauling her up onto this counter and guiding those long legs around my waist.
With one more inhale, I try to pull myself together before I do something I’ll regret in the morning.
Joey peers up at me, her hands stilling, her lips parted and her pupils dilated, making her brown eyes look almost black.
My heart thuds loudly, an invisible force pulling me closer—
Meow.
We jump apart like we just got caught by our parents, the bubble around us shattering.
Being caught by Barbara might be worse than being caught by parents. With the way she’s shooting daggers at us, I worry for our safety tonight.
It’s then that I notice the time above the stove. Shit, it’s almost midnight and Joey has work in the morning.
I stagger back farther. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was.”
Joey wraps her sweater tighter around her, a habit that signals that she’s nervous or feeling shy, I’ve noticed.
Looking everywhere but at me, she nods. “Yeah. I should get some sleep. Do you want me to help you clean up before I turn in for the night?”
“Absolutely not.” The knots in my muscles return. “I’ll clean up out here. Have a good night.”
Running her hands through her hair, she nods. Then with a murmured good night, she shuffles down the hall.
When her door snicks shut behind her, I slump to the floor, resting my head in my hands.
What am I doing?