Page 24 of Pictures in Blue
“Meddling,” I answer.
“Oh,” is all she says before she takes another sip of her coffee and reaches her hand in the bag for one of the lemon bars. I copy her action and take one for myself, biting into the tart flavor. Fran can do no wrong. Besides her sugar cookies. But her lemon bars are a tried and true recipe that is set in stone. It’s one of those recipes that has been handed down for generations, always constant, never changing. With no kids of her own, maybe I can convince Fran to cough it up, so I can bake them whenever I want. I’m not much of a baker, not compared to Fran, but I often spent my childhood days with her husband, Henry, in the back of the bakery, when I wasn’t out causing trouble with Axel.
She holds the coffee up in a cheers gesture, “Well, thanks for this, Hudson. I appreciate it.”
“Y-you’re welcome,” I stammer, liking the way my name sounds coming from her lips.
My eyes flick to them as she flicks her tongue across her bottom one, cleaning the powdered sugar that landed there. I want to pull it between my teeth and taste the sweetness of the sugar, the lingering tart flavor from the lemon. I imagine framing her face with my hands, pulling her closer, pressing her body into me, breasts firm against my chest.
Her gaze reaches mine and it’s then I realize I’ve been staring at her mouth, not saying anything for a full minute.
“How are you doing today?” she asks, popping the last bit of bar into her mouth and sucking the crumbs off of each finger.
An image of her on top of me watching as I draw each finger into my mouth, slowly licking and sucking the sweetness from them. She rocks back and forth sinking further onto me, our hips in sync as we…
Fuck.
She waves her hand in front of my face, “Helloooo. Are you having a stroke? Do I need to call an ambulance?”
I shake my head. “Sorry,” I say in a quiet tone. “Distracted.”
“Mm,” is all she says before asking her question again.
“I’m, uh-good, I guess.”
I shove the hand not holding coffee into my pocket, trying to keep it from fidgeting. This is weird. Being civil and friendly with her. I prefer our banter from last night, the teasing playfulness in our texts.
She gives me a tight smile and I can feel Cordie’s eyes flicking between the two of us. I fidget from foot to foot, trying to shift the front of my jeans without her noticing, not sure where to go from here. Do I invite her to do something today? Is she bored? Does she want me to leave? I’m just standing here like an idiot with a boner and words have completely left my brain.
“I was just about to go grab some and was dreading the rain, so I am happy to avoid that.”
I stay silent, because apparently I’m mute now. Never talking again. My lips are sealed forever and Avery probably thinks I’m insane.
“Anyway,” she says, waiting for an answer I don’t have. I try to smile, but it goes nowhere and she mutters another quick thanks before grabbing another bar from the bottom of the bag and retreating back upstairs, her ponytail swishing back and forth across her back. I take a step, starting to go after her, to ask her something, anything to make her stay a little bit longer, but change my mind and just watch her bound up the stairs.
There is a pink ribbon in her hair today with some sort of zigzag pattern and I can’t look away until she disappears from view. Stalkerish behavior that I am not usually prone to, but she is the sun and I am stuck in her orbit with no escape.
Cordie’s eyes bore into the side of my head and I can feel the load of crap she’s about to give me. “That was theworstinteraction I have ever seen and I have been around for alongtime,” she chuckles, fiddling with the thin chain hanging from her glasses. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?” she asks.
I roll my eyes. “I was just making up for Sky being Sky,” I say, even though we both know there is more to it than that.
“With the way you were drooling after her, I am going to call bullshit on that one.”
“I wasn’t drooling,” I say in a defensive tone, wiping below my bottom lip for good measure.
“You were maybe two seconds away from that. Next time, just have a conversation instead of standing there like a lovestruck dummy.”
“I amnotlovestruck.”
Deny, deny, deny.
“Whatever you say, Loverboy.” Cordie grabs her empty coffee mug and heads back into the kitchen, leaving me in the quiet lobby. I decide to walk home to try to clear my head, currently filled with pictures of blonde hair swishing back and forth, a pink ribbon holding it in place.
CHAPTER TEN
AVERY
It’s mid-evening and I have spent most of the day planted in one of the inn’s rocking chairs on the porch. I attempted to distract myself with a book, but each time I read a page, I retained nothing and had to go back, repeating the cycle until I eventually gave up. I’ve been watching the continuing storm, rain still pouring from the sky, splattering the street. Very few people have walked by, heads down, too distracted with getting out of the rain to notice me on the porch. I’m glad for that in a way. I’ve been able to rock quietly, fill up my coffee when I need to, and take a moment to breathe.
