Page 57 of The Overdue Kiss

“Good. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when you go storming in there.” He smacks his fist into his palm. “You have to show her you mean business.”

“I will.” My lips quiver at the sight before me. “I’m sorry, it’s hard to take you seriously in that apron.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “It probably looked better on Granny than me.”

“I think it makes you look quite handsome,” I whisper, batting my eyelashes.

“Yeah?” He leans in closer.

“Now the hairnet?” I scrunch up my nose. “I’m not feeling it.”

“Well you will, because if you want to help you have to wear one of these beauties. But I can help you put it on.” He wiggles his eyebrows and hands one to me.

“Ew, you two. I’m still here,” Reese complains.

“You know you can leave if you’re not doing anything.” Des glares in his sister’s direction.

“Reese can’t leave.” I shove all my curls into the hairnet and let it snap into place. “She’s my ride.”

Des catches my chin in his fingers, and my breath hitches at his sudden contact.

“Maya, you’re my backpack. If I’m here, then I’m your ride. Always.”

The heat of his words sear me, like he has some claim on me. My hands reach out, pressing against his chest, my fingers curling in the soft cotton. The magnet between us pulses, demanding we remove the gap of space between us. I can’t stop my eyes from trailing to his lips.

“You two are going to burn the jam. I’m not sure if I should leave you unsupervised.”

“Go home,” Des tells Reese, not breaking eye contact with me.

“Fiiine. But at least stop googly-eyeing each other until the jam is finished.”

Des steps away to scowl at his sister. “Why are you like this?”

She shrugs and rattles her keys playfully as she walks to the door. “Oh, and I’m still getting my usual percentage of the profits.”

“As long as you stop by tomorrow and put all the labels on—straight this time.”

She huffs. “For the record, my labels are always straight. I’ll swing by after work and knock them out. I’ll even let you make dinner for me.” She smiles sweetly, then dashes out before he changes his mind.

He turns back to me, but the moment between us is long gone.

Picking up the knife, I add a handful of clean grapes to the red-tinted cutting board. “Cut these next, chef?”

His mouth quirks at the title, and he slides a bowl over for me to drop the pieces in to.

Working side by side, we get into a productive groove. The conversation flows effortlessly, as most things do with Des. I talk about the petition as we work but eventually transition to my bookmobile project. Then I pepper him with teaching questions and soak up all his responses and funny stories.

The best part is that he listens. He never interrupts or changes the topic like Felipe used to. It’s... refreshing. Like he’s actually interested in what I have to say versus waiting for me to finish so he can discuss himself again.

I catch myself more than once admiring his profile and letting myself daydream, only for a second, what it would be like if this wasn’t some random visit to Des’s, but an everyday occurrence. Cooking breakfast before we head off to work or making cookies together while we share about our day.

That this could be my new normal... to be with Desmond.

I stiffen, not expecting this at all.

“Are you ready?” he asks, distracting me from my thoughts.

I don’t know if I am.I blink in confusion when he holds up his wooden spoon, then I realize we are on two different pages.

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