Page 34 of Blood Sweeter than Honey

My eyes roll in the back of my head as the sweet, smoky, savoury, and creamy flavors burst across my tongue. A soul-deep groan escapes me as my head tips back in ecstasy. My words are muffled by the mouthful of deliciousness.“Oh my fucking gods.”

Gideon’s mouth tips up in a grin as he chews his food. Eyes twinkling with mirth and something more that makes butterflies swarm in my belly. “Right?”

I shake my head in overwhelm. “How dare you.”

Gideon chuckles around his mouthful.

I take a gulp of the fresh, tangy lemonade we just made, groaning again with mind-numbing pleasure.“How-fucking-dare-you.”

Gideon’s laughter is contagious, but I can’t hold myself back from taking another giant bite of this perfection as I shake my head in awe and dismay.

“You have forever ensorcelled your way into my life. I’ll never be able to live without this now.”

Gideon chuckles, taking another bite, unmistakable joy replacing his usual dour expression as we hold one another’s gaze. That feeling—the tightness in my chest that only this man has ever managed to summon—heightens further. It would feel so fucking right to press my lips to his. To lean against his towering, muscled form and have his arms close around me.

But I have to remind myself that I literally met this man a day ago, and that would be an utterly deranged thing to do.

GIDEON

“Tell me about your childhood… and adulthood. Tell me everything.”

The question catches me by surprise and causes me to choke on a bite of my sandwich. Her brows pinch with concern as she claps me on my back.

After chugging some water, my words come out as a rasped wheeze.

“Nothin’ worth telling.”

Tension knots in my gut.Fuck me, would this woman be so fucking sweet to me if she knew the truth?

Winnow quirks a brow at me as an unimpressed look takes over her features. “Lies.”

I’d tell most people to fuck off, but this woman isn’t most people, and she gives me an unfamiliar eagerness to reveal every goddamn nook and cranny of my weary soul.

Drawing in a deep breath, my mind quickly works through a risk assessment.

If this woman is truly the kind, loving, considerate, level-headed woman she presents herself to be, she’d have every reason to run for the fucking hills if I tell her the truth aboutbludgeoning my own step-dad to death and the shit-storm from hell that is my ex-girlfriend.

I want Winnow.

In perpe-fuckin’-tuity.

And I’d sooner be the prime suspect in my own god damn murder investigation than let my step-father’s or Seraphine’s toxicity fuckin’ poison my chance at happiness with this angel of a woman.

So, while I will do my best to be honest about the good and the bad—although, who are we kidding here, up until this ranch, it was so bad it was rotten—if I need to omit a few things, well then so-fucking-be-it.

“Never met my dad. Step-dad was a piece of garbage. My mother passed away when I was nineteen, which is when I joined the military, so I didn’t end up homeless, and it ended up being the best thing for me until it wasn’t. Killed a load of people—some of whom were innocent and just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Haunts me to this day. Trying to resettle back into civilian life after surviving a war was a fucking nightmare. Which is when I stopped drinking… Proved to be an ineffective and thoroughly debilitating coping mechanism.”

Instinctively, my gaze drops because I can’t help but anticipate a look of judgment to enter her gaze, and I’m not fucking ready for it.

Drawing in a deep breath, I brave lifting my eyes to take in her reaction, andwillmy heart to turn into cement–certain I’ll find a look of horror or revulsion. For the one thousand questions sure to follow. For her walls to come up and what tiny modicum of intimacy and trust we’ve been building to dissolve like a sandcastle on a seashore beneath the bludgeoning wave that is merely the half-truth of my past.

Winnow’s brows are tense as something like, dare I say, empathy shines in her eyes as she studies me. “That… all soundsfucking horrible, and I’m heartbroken you had to suffer through that.”

Silence descends between us. Trying to force away the slight tremor in my hands, I set my elbows on the counter and hold my fists as I quietly employ the box breathing technique for the seven-thousandth time.

Winnow seems to discern that I’m attempting to self-soothe because she lets me do my thing, instead of filling the silence with questions that I don’t wanna answer. When my breathing returns to normal, her hand slides over my leg, just above the knee, and squeezes.

This is what solidarity feels like.

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