Page 63 of A Perfect Match
I’m rummaging through Griffin’s spice cabinet for the third time, trying to determine whether I’m blind or if Griffin just truly does not have any variety of paprika.Addressing the spice cabinet directly is probably the best way to find what I’m looking for.Unfortunately, it doesn’t respond.
“Fine.”I shut the door and look around at the messy kitchen.I’m mid-meal prep, an emergency request from Griffin who’s been too busy with hospital shifts and his hockey schedule to get his super-specific meal train in motion while his nutritionist is on vacation.I offered to help because he’s been pulling so much time at the hospital, which means Jerrica is running the show for me at Cloud Nine while I get Griff’s meals in order.On top of all that, I’m prepping dinner for family game night.
I’m nothing if not a Keegan servant.
I also had to postpone the barn showing with Kru, which has me practically combusting with anticipation.
Between the excitement about the barn and the residual giddiness from my late-night encounter with Kru yesterday, I’m almost useless in the kitchen.I can barely focus.If I’m not thinking about the way Kru made me come with his tongue, then I’m fantasizing about what my new barn space is going to look like when I’m done renovating it.
Piper, seriously, you need to calm down.
Except I can’t.I’m horny, I’m excited, I’m halfway in love with Kru,andthe whole package is coated with deep-seated, crippling anxiety about what happens if Mom doesn’t wake up.
That’s the part I’m trying to avoid thinking about too much.
So barn planning and orgasms it is.
“One last chance to reveal yourself, Smoked Paprika!”I try to say it menacingly.Smoked Paprika doesn’t care.
I’m making a few healthy dishes I pulled from the list of recipes Griff sent over, this one being some Spanish-style patatas bravas.I check my phone.Who the hell can I call at this hour who would have teaspoons of smoked paprika, or any variety of paprika, for me to steal?
A smile curls at my lips as I realize who I need to text.
Perfect mid-day excuse to bother him, too.
PIPER: Krudite, you know where I could find some smoked paprika on the fly?
I wonder if he likes my bastardization of his name.
KRU: I know a guy.How much you need, Half Pipe?
I smirk.That’s a new one.
PIPER: 3 tsps for my various recipes.Is there some at your house?I can go break in.
KRU: Nah, I’ll deliver.I’m running errands right now anyway.See you soon.
A shiver of excitement races up my spine, and I can’t stop the cheek-splitting smile.It’s nice to have a lover…even if he has to be a secret.My brothers are too uptight and closed-minded to go anywhere near evenmentioningthat I’m sleeping with my landlord and usurper.It’s just a no-go all around.So I’ll have my fun in the shadows until I can figure out what to do from here.
I continue with my meal prep, ignoring all things requiring paprika.About a half hour later, a knock at the front door startles me from concentration.It has to be Kru.That cheek-splitting smile is back.I rub my hands on my frilly kitchen apron and hurry to the front door.When I pull it open, Kru fills the doorway, looking every inch a working chef in his black tee and belted black pants.
He grins as soon as he sees me.I can’t help but drink him in, appreciating every last detail: the way his biceps strain the edges of his sleeves, his broad shoulders, the handsome smile that reminds me how much he enjoyed last night too.
Neither of us has said a word; we’re lost in each other’s gaze.
“Hi,” I finally breathe.
In lieu of a greeting, he dips down and coaxes a kiss from my lips.I slide my arms around his neck as he backs me inside the house.I kick the door shut behind him and suddenly I’m up against the wall, lip-locked and loving it.
“Hi,” he says when we break for air.“Missed ya.”
“Good thing I needed paprika then,” I giggle, running my hands through his hair.“You might not have survived the day without me.”
He grins, his brown eyes crinkling at the edges.“Whatcha making?”
I lead him into the kitchen by the hand, eager to share the day’s chef adventure.He nods appreciatively as I show him my sliced potatoes, the marinades, the seared chicken, and more.
“Two of my five recipes call for smoked paprika,” I inform him, “and apparently Griffin has never added spices to a dish in his life before.He only has the most irrelevant items in his spice cabinet.”
