Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
I shoved the mask to my forehead, threw my legs over the side of the bed and hit the door in time to see Cleo, in full Lab mode, charging toward me with a new rawhide clamped in her teeth, the label still dangling from it, trailing her leash. I moved my eyes to watching Cap walk toward the kitchen carrying four Fry’s bags in one hand, a tray with two Starbuck’s coffee cups in the other.
“You went grocery shopping?” I asked while alternately avoiding an overexcited Cleo and wandering down the hall.
“I wasn’t sure you’d have all the ingredients for my chocolate chip pikelets with caramelized pear and chocolate sauce.”
At his words, I stopped dead in the opening to my kitchen and stared at him as he unpacked groceries.
“I can confirm I don’t have pears,” I said as he unearthed one.
“There you go,” he muttered.
“What are pikelets?”
“Mini pancakes. It’s an Aussie/New Zealand term.”
Okay, maybe I should invite him to the Dream Intervention.
Because I was hanging on to this dude for a good long time.
I wasn’t ready to go there yet.
But still.
Maybe that good long time would be forever.
My kitchen wasn’t that big, two people in it was close to two too many, and anyway, he seemed to be on a mission, so I rounded the column that delineated kitchen from living room and hiked my ass up on one of my stools (baby-pink, tufted-button back, quilted front, silver nail-edged seat, chrome bottom, adjustable with footrest bar, pure glam on a pole—and they were comfy).
“Got you a latte,” he said. “Your name is on the side.”
I hadn’t finished my coffee.
I still reached for the cup with Ray scribbled on it.
I forgave the Starbuck’s barista for missing the “e” on my name after I sipped.
I then asked, “You put Cleo in your Porsche?”
“Sure,” he replied.
I was getting closer to that forever.
“I called Luna,” I announced.
He stopped investigating my kitchen at the same time pulling out things he needed from where he found them and looked at me. His eyes swung up to the gel eye mask on my forehead, his lips tipped up, then those delightful blue-grays came to mine.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“She wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow.”
He didn’t wince or go stiff, or visibly freak out in any way at this alarmingly quick escalation in our relationship after our first very bad/incredibly awesome date.
Nope.
He started opening and closing cupboards again, asking, “What time?”
“Um…after we hit Dream’s Intervention.”
That got his attention.
He looked at me again. “Sorry?”
“You’re invited.”
“To the intervention of a woman I barely met…once?”
“Okay, Mr. Jackson, it’s time I came clean.”
He moved to the counter opposite me and settled his weight into his hands on the edge, leveling his gaze on me.
Man, he looked good in my kitchen.
“About what?” he asked.
“You see, I’m a little nuts.”
“That’s not news.”
“And Luna is a little nuts.”
“That isn’t really news either.”
“And seeing as Scott and Louise made her, they’re a little nuts.”
“Right.”
“And I told you they unofficially adopted me.”
“Yup.”
“And I’ve never told any guy I’ve ever dated about Macy. Or Mom.”
He nodded his head.
Once.
“Got it. So what time is this intervention?”
I blinked. “You’re going?”
“You’re into me.”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“I’m into you.”
“I hope so.”
“I’m into you, Rachel.”
I made big eyes, and my chin went into my neck as my lips spread tight and tipped up with my happy smile.
His lips tipped up too, but he didn’t look like a five-year-old who just opened a present to unearth the doll she’d always wanted.
Not even close.
He also shook his head in an, isn’t she cute? rather than an, isn’t she scary as fuck? way, which I took as good.
“We’re gonna spend the day together,” he stated.
“We are?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“And the night.”
“Okay,” I whispered again.
“No pressure. I want you. You know that. But that’s on your terms. I’m still spending the night.”
I wanted him too, obvs, and usually, I had no hang ups with that.
But with Cap, I wanted it to be special (and that special couldn’t be when I was on my period—my first day was always a heavy flow, and I was over that, so it didn’t last long…still).
Thus, we’d see.
“Okay,” I repeated.
“That means we’ll be spending tomorrow together too. So it doesn’t matter when this gig is. We’ll just hit it when it happens.”
“Right.”
“You wanna help me or do you want me to cook for you?”
I guessed that was that.
And I was okay with that.
“Do you want me to help?” I asked.
“I wanna cook for you.”
“Mi cocina es tu cocina, mi amigo.”
He did that, isn’t she cute? head shake again.
Then he got to work on pikelets and caramelized pears.
Spoiler alert…
When I finally shoved that stuff in my mouth, I fell in love.
With his cooking.
But I was sensing that was just the beginning.
NINE
SWINGING LOW
After breakfast, Cap left to go home and shower and pack some stuff to spend the night.