Chapter Twenty-Five
ELLIE
Dinner from the little Italian place on Main Street sat heavy and satisfying in my stomach.
Garlic, basil, tomato—the scents still hung heavy in Drew’s kitchen.
I picked up my dish from his brand new kitchen table and carried it over to the dishwasher.
As I slid it into place on the bottom row, I groaned and rubbed my belly. “That was so good.”
His laugh caressed my ears, warm and rich. Then he was behind me, his hands on my hips, nudging me back against the gleaming granite-topped island. Drew brushed his mouth over mine. “TV?” he asked softly, his lips grazing mine.
I hesitated. I wanted to curl up against him and watch mindless fluff, but my laptop weighed on me more than the food did.
“I should work on the last few chapters. My deadline to turn in the first draft is close.” After years of inconsistent writing, the story had begun to flow better these last few months since working for Drew.
And that was definitely not a coincidence.
He helped me believe in love and friendship again.
It was finally time to cross the finish line and make this dream come true.
“Okay.” He kissed me again. “What do you need from me?”
I blinked. I didn’t even know how to answer. No one had ever asked me that. Not my ex, not my family.
My throat tightened.
Drew cupped my cheek, thumb brushing back and forth until I leaned into it. “Ellie?”
“No one’s ever asked me that before,” I whispered.
“Then let’s fix that. Quiet? Noise? Music? Candles? Snacks?” I pressed against his chest, soaking in the comfort of his acceptance, and listened to his thudding heartbeat.
“Noise. Snacks, always.” I tried for lightness, even as I melted into him. “Water and coffee, too.”
“Done.” He ran his hand up and down my spine; the simple gesture was soothing and arousing all at once.
He wasn’t even trying to be sexy, and my body still hummed with need, craving him and his touch.
“What do you think about working on the couch?” he asked. “I’ll work beside you.”
“That sounds great,” I replied. Can you work with the TV on?”
“Three siblings,” he said. “The TV is just background noise.” He kissed the top of my head—my kryptonite. That one simple press of his lips made me feel wanted in a way no one ever had. It said, I want you. I want to comfort you. And I want to be close to you. It was the perfect low level intimacy.
“How about Hallmark movies?” I suggested.
His grin made my stomach flip. “I’m game. My sister, Wyatt, and I would watch them with my parents all the time.”
“Not Marc?”
“Nah, he would rather read or study up on the latest scientific discoveries. Besides, he peoples out faster than the rest of us. And prefers animals to humans most of the time.”
I reluctantly pulled back and leaned into his arms. “Okay, you passed that test, but what if I told you I was behind on my true crime show and having that in the background is weirdly soothing and helps me write?”
“Then I’d say I’ll watch it with you.”
I smiled, bouncing on the tips of my toes in excitement. He got me. “I’ll go upstairs and get changed then.”
He squeezed my hips before letting go. “And I’ll pull together snacks and drinks for when we want them.”
Drew opened a cabinet and selected two travel mugs and two glasses. My mouth watered at his sexy forearms with his sleeves rolled up, the way his button-down shirt stretched across his back, and the way his slacks emphasized the tight, roundness of his backside.
His knowing wink sent heat up my neck through my chest. “You’re not going to change?”
Busted. “Haha.” Not that I minded staring at him like this all night long, but lounging on the couch demanded loungewear.
He grinned. “I’ll change when you come back down.”
I propped my hip against the island and crossed my arms. “Why wait?”
Drew dropped the grin as his jaw clenched. “Because if I go up with you and see even a sliver of your skin, neither of us are going to get any work done tonight.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I’d never had a man blatantly want me like this.
“Now hurry up before I change my mind.” His eyes gleamed wickedly. I giggled and turned to half-run/walk up the stairs.
I changed into my soft sweatshirt and sweatpants, stuffed my laptop and papers into a bag, and returned to find Drew stocking the coffee table like a man preparing for a hurricane: mugs, water, a lazy Susan of salty-sweet snacks, pillows, blankets, and a lap desk.
He’d even queued my favorite true-crime show.
How did he know it was my favorite? Or did he just guess based on our past conversations?
He looked up as I padded into the room. His eyes flared at my bare stomach where my sweatshirt cropped short. His hand skimmed my hip and lingered. “Intentional torture?”
“Torture?” I looked down at myself, confused. My hair was in a messy bun. My makeup was long gone. I was just me.
His palm warmed my skin. “If you keep this up, I’m going to have to come back downstairs in gray sweats and nothing else.”
My breath stuttered. My body reacted instantly, wanting him in that exact outfit—or lack of it. “Don’t tempt me.” My pussy was practically high-fiving my clit, and both were pushing to drive my response. “God, I want to say yes, but I’m afraid I won’t get any writing done.”
He backed out of the room. “Don’t tempt me, then.” His grin was wicked as he disappeared to change.
The second he was gone I dropped my bag onto the couch and chugged the glass of water closest to me. Once my heated skin marginally cooled down and the lower half of my body quietly sulked itself into partial submission, I sat down to appreciate the spread Drew had laid out.
He’d win the title of perfect boyfriend for sure. Well, perfect fake boyfriend.
Not so fake when you have feelings. Bad Eleanor chose this moment to taunt me.
To which I steadfastly ignored her.
I burrowed into the spot at the end of the couch with the cozy blanket. By the time Drew returned, I’d set up my laptop and was ready to start.
As he strolled in, my jaw dropped. Gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, clinging in all the right places as he pulled a worn t-shirt over his head. The fabric dropped slowly, teasing a final glimpse of bare skin before settling into place.
He knew full well what message he was sending.
“You fight dirty,” I muttered, heat edging up my chest.
“Payback,” he said easily, sitting at the far end of the couch. His thigh brushed my foot, and I curled my toes as sparks shot through me.
“It’s just a sweatshirt,” I protested weakly, knowing full well that I picked it because it showed off part of my stomach. A year ago, I’d stopped hiding behind long, baggy shirts and outfits, declaring that if I loved my body, I shouldn’t be ashamed to show it off.
He raised a perfect eyebrow and lifted the hem of his shirt slightly in a partial strip tease.
I covered my eyes. “Okay, okay. Stop. I’ll admit, it might have crossed my mind that you might like it, but seriously, you can’t do that. I have to work.”
His laughter echoed in the partially furnished space.
It didn’t escape my notice that he’d sat at the far end of the couch, respecting work boundaries I hadn’t even set yet.
The direct opposite to how Kyle used to be was so glaring in this moment.
When I first started to hone my craft, anytime I tried to write he’d find ways to distract me or whine that I was ignoring him.
I wished I’d never moved in with him. The worst part was when he gave me space to “support” my writing, he’d find ways to make me pay for it later in either silence or low-key snarky comments.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table.
CELIA
URGENT.
A second later another text came in.
CELIA
Problem with the favors. I need you.
Another buzz.
MOM
Answer your sister.
Guilt prickled—and then passed. I turned the phone facedown. Drew’s eyes flicked to mine, unreadable, but his hand found my calf and squeezed once.
Approval. Support. I exhaled.
For once, I didn’t rush to fix what they were demanding. I chose me.
I chose this moment.
We worked in companionable silence for almost two hours.
Drew’s pen scratched in his sketchbook, his hand occasionally drifting along my leg in absentminded comfort.
When I closed my laptop at last, stretching my arms over my head, his gaze tracked the lift of my sweatshirt like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Snack break?” he asked, pulling the tray closer.
“And cuddle break,” I countered, sliding under his arm. His warmth enveloped me instantly.
“Words flowing?” he murmured against my hair.
“Better than expected. You?”
He held up his work, sketches of jewelry filling the page. I traced the lines with my fingertip, awed as he described the metals and stones he’d use. “These are incredible. You should design again. A Heritage Collection—modernized classics. You’d honor your family and make something new.”
His jaw worked. “Time. I don’t know if I have it.”
I touched the center of his chest. “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is whether this makes your soul sigh in joy.”
His silence was answer enough.
I leaned closer, heart pounding with the need to show him his dreams mattered. “Don’t let go of it, Drew. Please.”
He kissed my temple again, softer this time. “I’ll think about it.”
My heart flipped. “Good. Feel free to tell me to shut up if you don’t want me to push you. I just waited so long to start my writing journey that I hate to see others do the same.”
He brushed a piece of hair that had fallen from my messy bun behind my ear. “I’ll tell you if I think you’ve overstepped. I put that dream away so long ago it seems out of reach now.”
“I understand.”
Another buzz from my phone. I turned it over, just in case it was someone other than my sister or mother.
MOM
Call your sister.
I looked away, my hand finding Drew’s, twining our fingers. They could wait.
He studied me. His expression made me feel like I was doing something brave.
Maybe I was.
He tugged me gently, and I climbed onto his lap, straddling him and watching his eyes darken. His hands gripped my hips, heat pouring through me. “How long a break can you take?” I asked, rocking against him just enough to feel his answering hardness.
His slow smile, devastating. “I was about to ask you the same.”
“I think I’ve done enough. And if what you’re thinking involves articles of clothing being torn off your body, I’m all in.”
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest into mine and he lifted me off of him. “I’ll give you a head start.”
I shook my hips as I landed on my feet and got ready to run; excited about the thought of him chasing me. “Oh yeah? How much?”
“One.” He shifted to the edge of the couch.
I took a few more steps.
“Two.” He stood.
I squealed as he lunged and yelled. “Three!”
We both took off running, our feet thudding against the floor, breathless, our laughter echoing around us, and the buzzing of my phone forgotten.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t tethered to my family’s demands. I was tethered to joy. To choice.
To Drew.
And I vowed to store this moment of playfulness in my internal memory box for future use, to be taken out whenever I was missing him.