8. Phoenix #3
“I don’t know, it’s kind of funny watching you play the part of the stereotypical British butler. Stoic and posh all at the same time.”
“Sounds about right.”
There was nothing but the sound of our spoons scraping the insides of our sundae cups. I savored the lingering taste of peaches on my lips, a nagging reminder that the ones I got at the grocery store never tasted like this.
“One day I might have to bite the bullet and come up here in a vehicle with trunk space so I can stock up on fruit and condiments,” I muttered. “Cider too, and jam; can’t forget that.”
“No, you certainly can’t. I’ll bring you if you’d like.
It will give me the chance to try out the rest of these toppings.
After tasting this, holy fuck, those pale-ass cocktail cherries seem awfully sad.
The blueberry lemon caught my attention when I was scanning the menu.
If they have it when we come back, that’s the one I intend to try. ”
“Are you forgetting that I’ve seen your car?” I reminded him. “What trunk space? You don’t have a back seat either. What the fuck, dude?”
“Says the guy who rides a motorcycle.”
“Okay, fair.”
The whipped cream on the top of my sundae made me think about the night on the couch, every bite bringing back more memories of the mess Aspen had made out of me.
And how thoroughly he’d cleaned it up. I squirmed before I could stop myself and hoped Parker hadn’t noticed, especially when my cheeks started heating up.
“You know, there is only one solution I can think of to our dilemma about the trunk space,” he said, finger pressed to his chin.
“How did it become our dilemma?”
“When you proposed stocking up here, I decided that I wanted to spend the winter baking and making gourmet meals again, only this time I’d like to make them for three.”
“And what is your solution to what I agree is now a shared problem, because I want to see what you’re talking about when you say gourmet. If it’s anything fancier than steak and potatoes, I guarantee I’ve never tasted it before.”
“I do get a smidge fancier than steak and potatoes,” he said, holding his fingers farther apart than I’d have considered a smidge.
“Uh-huh,” I muttered as I stood to collect our trash and throw it away. “Just do me one favor.”
“What?”
“If it’s something truly exotic, like snails or eels, don’t tell me.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” he replied.
“I keep to what I can find at the butcher shop and the grocery store. I wouldn’t even know where to go to get the kinds of snails you can cook.
I have eaten them, though, and I must say, my skepticism faded at the first bite.
But I am woefully untrained in the art of preparing them. ”
“Shouldn’t a good British butler be prepared for whatever crises arise on his watch?”
“As the butler, my job is to oversee the household; it says nothing about cooking on my list of duties.”
“But weren’t you the one who just offered to…”
The whole facade broke at last, and he doubled over laughing. It was a good thing I’d already thrown our sundae cups away, because his hair might have gotten sticky.
“Damnit, I knew you were going to trip me up eventually.”
“Yeah, but you made me work for it.”
“You still haven’t told me the solution you came up with,” I reminded him.
“Oh, that, it’s easy. We just get Aspen to go with us. You’ve seen his condiments collection. No way he doesn’t fill half the back seat all on his own. This way we get to shop and plan out some meals together.”
“I like that plan,” I replied as he stood and arched his back.
“Me too. Think Aspen will?”
“I hope so, when you think about the way he was issuing orders this morning. You’ve still got to figure out your story or he won’t be pleased with either of us.”
“Maybe after the next stretch, I’ll have it unraveled,” he muttered.
“You could always have someone else rescue them,” I blurted. “Like one of the bike messenger guys. Maybe that’s why he winds up dead in the next book.”
He said nothing, just stared at me, bug-eyed and frozen.
“Or not,” I muttered and started to turn to head back to my bike.
I was yanked around so fast that when I collided with his chest, my head was still reeling.
“Brilliant!” he declared, kissing me while I was still trying to catch my breath. “I love it. I need to write that down. Then we can get rolling if you’re ready to go. I’m sure it will be writing itself in my head for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Glad I could help,” I murmured as his lips closed over mine, carrying the lingering essence of cherries.
He whipped a notebook out and started scribbling the moment we broke apart, while I stared off over the rows of beautiful trees running through the valley, hoping we did come back as a trio and not just once either.
I was starting to think that I might want forever with them. But what were the odds they felt the same about me? And how to find out before I broke my own heart chasing men who were out of my league? I needed an answer to that last one pronto, though I feared it was already too late.
I was falling in love with them.