Page 116 of Still Yours
“I’m nervous,” I say.
No one’s listening. Or maybe they can’t hear me due to the last-minute hammering and scraping of heavy wooden tables and chairs as the contractors drag them into place.
Well, the contractors and Stone.
His broad back faces me as he twists the last high-top into alignment with the others beside the front-facing windows overlooking Main Street.
A deep V of sweat runs between the middle of his shoulder blades, the thin navy cotton damp and melting into the grooves of his muscles as he works.
I swallow at the sight, ignoring the untimely tingles my vagina gives off at the sight of Stone with his dirty jeans and wood-dusted skin carrying a sheen of salt. As far as I’m concerned, America can have him as their sexiest man alive, because I’m more than happy to call this version my man.
To my surprise, Stone answers without turning around. “I know you’re nervous, Lavender. But you have nothing to worry about. The layout is perfect. Your food is fantastic. You are, infact…” He turns to me. I’m already in the midst of preening under his grit-laced voice, the overworked tone something I usually receive after a marathon night of sex with him.
“…Incredible,” he finishes with a side-cocked, seductive smile.
The responsive flutters in my belly are both from his bedroom eyes and the reminder that my new restaurant, my sole focus since graduating culinary school, mybaby, opens tonight.
“I don’t know.” I force my leg muscles to relax their anxious vibrations and move toward him. “Maybe it’s too soon. I should’ve waited. Or opened in LA instead of Falcon Haven. Or researched more states to know which has the best successful restaurant opening rate?—”
Stone steals my second-guesses by pressing his lips to mine. My tongue flicks out. I taste wood, salt, and his unique sweetness.
He pulls away as soon as I melt into his body, holding me steady by squeezing my upper arms. Stone’s magnetic blues, softened by a love that hasn’t faded—will never fade—with time, he says, “This is the perfect spot. You’re next door to Maisy, one of your favorite people and unrepentant cheerleader. You’re far enough away from Saint’s spot that he won’t consider you competition and set fire to your restaurant. You have the whole town chattering about your modern American take on food. And believe me, getting this town to talk about anything other than ranching, where to get the best grits, and who’s hooking up with who, isn’t easy.” Stone gives a wry smile. “I should know.”
I stare past his shoulder, scanning the exposed wooden beams in the ceiling, the blonde wood tables, and the walls containing posters, tin signs, and street art of all the places I dreamed of visiting after catching the travel bug in Paris. After witnessing the transformation, Stone vowed to take me to everycity, island, or mountain I wanted, so long as I set roots with him and named a permanent piece of land our home.
I agreed, even though I’ve learned that anywhere I go with Stoneismy home, because he’s with me.
Stone grinned when I said we should keep his mother’s house, a place she so carefully tended and that was full of love, and make it our glowing lighthouse within the globe of our world. His eyes misted and he had to clear his throat multiple times when, after poring over budgets, business plans, and profit analyses, I wanted to name my restaurant Judy Lynn’s, after our mothers.
I’m overwhelmed with the responsibility of representing our mothers, our relationship, and showcasing it all to Falcon Haven, a town that knows me all too well and can judge me just as easily. My breath grows tight. My lips part slightly to let a squeak of air through.
Stone notices, a line forming between his brows as he stares deep into my eyes, then pivots me by the shoulders.
“See that?” he says behind me.
He’s spun me to look at the central piece of art in the restaurant, on the wall immediate to the front entrance. It’s a large mural Stone commissioned to copy his favorite photo of me that he took in Paris. I’m wearing a traditional chef hat and white apron, my profile grinning as I stare down at the dough I’m kneading in the culinary school’s kitchen.
At first, I didn’t want it. I thought a photo of the two of us would be better, since he helped finance this dream of mine and has become my other half.
Stone refused, saying this was for me. My dream, my restaurant, my executive chef role.
“You are at the forefront,” he says now, into my ear. “I can’t think of a better time for me to step back and allow my girlfriendand all-time fantastic chef to have the spotlight for as long as she wants.”
“You’ve never shared the spotlight,” I joke, one side of my lips tilting up.
Stone twists me back to him so we’re facing each other again. “That’s because I’m not sharing. I’m giving it to you. Happily.” He pulls me in for another kiss, murmuring against my lips, “Youaremy spotlight, Noa. Always.”
I smile against his lips until he catches them with his teeth and sucks them into his mouth.
A groan escapes my throat. His erection presses into my stomach and I lean into it, subtly rubbing against his cock and wishing I wasn’t wearing jeans and could lift my leg and let him enter?—
“Oi! Some of us are working here!”
At our lead contractor’s booming voice, drawing the attention of the others, Stone and I laugh against each other’s mouths and reluctantly part.
Stone takes my hand as I use my other one to rub the blush out of my cheeks. “How about I buy you a milkshake at the Merc before the big reveal?”
I huff out a laugh and nod. “Sure. Dairy on a nervous stomach sounds great.”
