Page 66 of The Bright Side of Brooding
He nodded once, though the smile lingered as he unloaded the bags of food on the counter. I gave Butter a final pat and moved to the sink to wash my hands. When I glanced from the sink, Nick’s profile struck me. The man was utter perfection physically, and all the more so because he wasn’t actually perfect. I got to see those little things up close. But what made him so completely beautiful was the heart underneath.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at me before dishing up more food on the plates in front of him.
My stomach flipped, but I approached, setting a hand on his muscular back and leaning in to watch him. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”
He raised a brow.
“Don’t want to scare you away,” I said, then winked, hopefully covering the real fear in that thought. He’d given me no reason to think he’d go running for the hills if he knew how much I liked him, how much I thought of him, and generally how much I wanted with him and from him. But I didn’t know.
His hands stilled at my words, and he turned his focus to me. He angled his body, too, so every ounce of that Nick Masters intensity trained on me. “You won’t.”
I swallowed. My heart cartwheeled. “Good.”
* * *
The simple pot roast, veggies, and a salad went down well. Nick devoured everything on his plate and then got seconds. The satisfaction of feeding him lit that usual glow in me, but it felt brighter tonight. Maybe because of where we’d started months ago—him attempting to politely refuse my food. Or perhaps it felt so significant because it was. Feeding someone you cared about in a personal way was fundamentally different than feeding a stranger or even an acquaintance.
Not for the first time, I wondered how feeding a family—my own family—might feel. Then I realized Nick was clearing the table, so I jumped up to help.
“No, no. You know the rules. You cooked, so I clean. Give me just a minute and I’ll join you on the couch.” He piled our plates and bowls into a neat stack and left me nothing to do, so I did as he suggested.
Butter had set up vigil on the back of the couch. I ran a hand over him, smiling when his purr ignited. Rounding the corner, I sat, reveling in the dual sensation of sated hunger and blooming anticipation. Oddly enough, it was a feeling I had come to associate with spending time with Nick. The sated feeling didn’t always correlate with eating, although tonight it did. But I also felt satisfaction of a deeper hunger, something I’d only recently begun to recognize existed in me.
I leaned back against the cushions gingerly, hoping I wouldn’t disturb Butter. Then I felt something under me and pulled out a small notebook.
“Whoops,” I said aloud, though I could hear the water running in the kitchen, so he was still cleaning up. I fingered a page that’d bent when I sat on it.
Then, because my eyes were nosy jerks, I read the words while pressing the fold out of the paper. Neat, slanted writing filled two and three lines at a time with spaces between.
I never saw you coming, and it’s a damn good thing.
I chuckled at that. I wasn’t arrogant enough to be sure it referred to me, but if it was, I had to laugh. I certainly felt the same way.
When you press against me, the world collapses into nothing. All my concern circles the contact, the slip of your fingers in my hair, the slide of your tongue in my mouth. The hitch of your breath is a beat, a moment, a thousand seconds I hang on. The pull of a smile at your lips is melody and song.
Oh, wow.
And I shouldn’t have kept going, but I did. Because no woman in her right mind would be offered the opportunity to gain insight into Nick Masters andnottake it. Particularly if she were feeling a little unsteady. Like her feelings were too big to fit into her body, and like she was barreling toward something she’d never had before.
So, right or wrong, I read on. The next one had a big line through it, like he’d rejected the thoughts, either for falsehood or maybe he just didn’t like the words.
Chances.
I have not been known to follow. Not after chances.
I have not been able to dream. Not of chances.
I have not been determined to fight. Not for chances.
I have not been deserving to know. Not of chances.
Now I know.
I will follow you.
I dream of you.
I will fight for you.
