Page 52 of Caught Up In You

And so much I worry she’ll never show me.

The whole tableau is only made more delicious by the fact that she braved the pouring rain to get to my doorstep. Her thick dripping curls are pasted to her cheeks and forehead, her shirt clings to her body, and her jeans are blooming with dark wet spots down her thighs.

A bolt of lightening flashes behind her.

“Wow, that really came out of nowhere, huh?” I peer at the dark clouds over her shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking that since last night, Doc,” she replies with a wink.

“Get in here, you.” I grab her wrist and tug, pulling her into my arms. I rest my chin on her head and enjoy the feeling of her arms wrapping around my waist.

She doesn’t squeeze, though, doesn’t pull me close to her. I’m starting to recognize the distance Wyatt always leaves herself. She’s careful.

So am I.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I tell her, and when she doesn’t say anything, I add, “Are you glad you’re here?”

She glances up at me, that wicked gleam in her eye I’m starting to know so well.

“That remains to be seen. You mentioned food?”

I release her and lead her through the house by the hand, pointing out all Felix’s unfinished projects as we make our way to the kitchen. Now that she’s here, I don’t want to let her go. Having her hand in mine feels like snapping the last piece into a puzzle I’ve been working on for months.

“I promised to feed you, and I always deliver,” I say when we get to the kitchen island. The large cutting board Felix made in high school shop is covered in a swirling selection of salami and prosciutto, Gruyère and Brie, raspberries and dried apricots, wasabi peas, almonds, dark chocolate–covered golden raisins, and a selection of crackers. A warm, crusty baguette sits atop a dish towel, ready to be torn to yeasty bits.

“Where did you get this?” she asks as she circles the board like a lion circling her prey.

“I made it. I know your penchant for snacks, so this is, you know, grown-up snacks. Well, mostly.”

And then she dives straight for the center of the board.

“Circus Peanuts!” she cries, holding up a candy.

“They were out at the grocery store. I can only assume you bought all of them, because I refuse to believe anyone else eats those things. I had to drive to four different gas stations before I found these, and I can’t promise they’re not twenty to thirty years old.”

She plucks one off the board. “That’s okay. They’re good when they’re a little stale.”

She holds it up between her thumb and forefinger, then sinks her teeth into the neon-orange marshmallow, and shit, she makes it look delicious.Shelooks delicious, even eating an unholy lump of sugar, food dye, and artificial flavoring.

I watch her in wonder as she chews and swallows, still not believing that she’s here. The taste of her is still so vivid on my lips from last night.

“Oh, I forgot. I brought something,” she says, then digs into the worn leather tote bag still hanging over her shoulder. She drags out a heavy can and thunks it onto the bar. It takes me a few seconds to get it.

Pineapple.

“I figured it was on theme,” she says with a grin.

I roll my eyes and reach for the wine bottle, pouring two glasses and passing one to her. Then I raise mine. “To pineapple,” I say, and instead of clinking my glass, she clinks the can.

“To pineapple.”

And then the words just fall right out of my mouth, all thoughts of taking it slow and not scaring her gone. “Do you want to go with me to my friend Francie’s engagement party?”

I immediately cringe. I couldn’t have let her have a glass of wine first? Some food? Maybe coaxed her through four or five orgasms? I couldn’t have waiteda day?

But the truth is, this woman makes me lose all self-restraint and discipline. Any notion of being thoughtful or delicate? Justgone.

I’mgone.

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