Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Damn, Dalton. Are you trying to hit top-boyfriend status?”
“You deserve the world, Gabriella.”
My breath rushes between my lips. In five words Dalton takes us from joking into throat burning, tear-jerking territory. I swallow down the lump and paste on a bright smile. “Let’s go cook you some meatballs and you can decide if the world is enough.”
I shift to stand on shaky legs and Dalton holds me by the hips while I let the blood flow back into my cramped limbs. Before I move away to search out something to wear that’s suitable for cooking in, he touches the soft curls between my legs. “I like this,” he says. “Don’t ever wax it away like those women in dirty movies. I hate that prepubescent look. I like a woman to be a woman.”
I’ve never wanted to wax myself into Barbie territory, but I assumed most men would prefer it. It’s good to hear that not all men internalize the images they see in porn. If it’s possible, his grown-up attitude only makes me like him more.
“Yeah, well you need to keep this too.” I touch the soft dusting of hair across his chest and follow the path of his happy trail down his stomach. “I like a man to be a man.”
Dalton takes my hand and kisses my fingertips, rising from the chair to loom over me. We dress in a comfortable silence, and as I’m pulling on a shirt, I spot movement in Kain’s room through my sheer drapes. My window is open and so is his. Depending on how long he’s been home, he might have heard me and Dalton in the throes of passion.
When Dalton’s dressed in his shorts and shirt, I open my bedroom door and we both descend the stairs. With every step, it’s like real life comes into focus. Pictures of me and Travis line the wall, but I don’t focus on them today.
My mom’s apron hangs behind the kitchen door, and I’d usually use it, but today it doesn’t feel right.
It’s only spaghetti and meatballs, but somehow, the very prospect of cooking for the Nowaks is now twisted up in the hottest sex I’ve ever had.
I’m never going to be able to look at spaghetti and meatballs the same again!
9
DALTON
If someone told me I could find onion chopping sexy, I’d have told them they were crazy, but that’s before I had the pleasure of watching Gabriella cook for me.
Her slender fingers handle the knife with an expert quality, chopping everything fast and small. “It’s better if the onions are small,” she says. “A lot of people don’t like them, but you need them to add flavor. This way, they practically disappear into the sauce. Here, you try.”
She holds out the knife and I hesitate, knowing my thick fingers are going to struggle to accomplish the same thing. She doesn’t back down, though. “You won’t learn if you don’t try,” she says softly.
I take the knife, focusing all my attention on the half-sphere of white onion left on the wooden board. The blade is sharp and cuts without much effort. I go slow, keeping the distance between cuts the same as Gabriella’s. “That’s it,” she says. “You’ve got it.”
When I finish, I hand her the knife again. “It’s harder than it looks.”
“Everything in life just takes practice,” she says. “If you can build a house, you can make a meal.”
I nod, agreeing with her sentiment. My dad always told us that the only difference between successful people and bums was that successful people are prepared to make mistakes, learn, and try again. They aren’t put off by challenge and adversity, and usually I’d take this kind of thing in stride. But today’s task is laced with two parts that are unsettling. The first is that Gabriella is watching me and the second is that Mom used to make this same dish for us when we were kids. That’s probably why Kain bought these ingredients. It used to be his favorite meal. He didn’t stop to think about how I would feel watching Gabriella recreate the past in this way.
“Right, you want to put some oil in first and set it to medium heat. You want the onions to cook through but not burn.” She shows me how much, and tips the onions in. “You can stir these while I chop the garlic.”
We work side by side in a way that feels companionable. My mom and dad didn’t have this kind of relationship. He was the grafter, and she was the housewife. They were happy fulfilling their very different roles, but that isn’t the kind of relationship I want.
I want this. Working with my woman to create a life together. I want us to have each other’s backs through all of our experiences. Dad would probably tell me it’s a recipe for disaster. Their generation wanted very clear roles, but our world is different. Most women work now. They can’t be expected to still fulfill all the home duties too.