Page 100 of Make Mine Sweet
He pads back into his room. His door is ajar, reminding me I can’t go completely wild with Ian, no matter how much I want to. Maybe if we were quiet on the couch…
“I should probably go let Dutch out,” Ian says.
Oh. I guess we’re not on the same wavelength with the couch thing. I walk him to the door, duct-taping the mouths of all the voices in my head telling me I messed up. Got ahead of myself. Gave too much.
He opens the door and turns around. “See you tomorrow?”
Relief floods in. “Yes, please.”
He leans close enough our mouths almost touch.Almost. His breath ghosts over my lips.
“I like theplease,” he purrs.
Purrs. A month ago, I might have described him as a grouchy lion with stabby claws. Now, he’s a ginger kitten. Still dangerous, but the only thing in the firing line is my heart.
His kiss goodnight is full of promises of more kisses to come. When he pulls back, he smiles wider, tempting me to lean in to keep saying goodnight.
“August was right,” he says. “A zillion fireworks.”
THIRTY-THREE
TESS
HavingAugust’s birthday party two days after the Fourth Fest was a bit like going to Six Flags and then hitting up Disneyland—excitement overload. He had a blast at the park with his friends, getting caught up in party games and running wild on the play structures. They had strawberry cupcakes with dinosaur toppers, sliced fruit, and a veggie tray I’m bringing home in its entirety.
Mom and Wren alternated being in charge of the bakery so each of them could come down for an hour to celebrate with August. It’s just more proof that we need to hire another employee, no matter how little Mom likes the concept.
Mom floated the idea of having his party yesterday when Blackbird’s was closed, but that would have resulted inthreeparty days in a row, and I refused on principle. Mama needs a minute to rest.
August and I are on our way across town still giddy from the party and loaded down with presents from his friends, and the day isn’t over yet. Later tonight, we’ll have the barbecue at the duplex with friends and family. This event will be more low-key since I only invited adults, but he’s just as amped up about it as he was for the afternoon with his classmates.
“Everybody can see our new house and meet Dutch, and we can play my new game,” he tells me.
“The one that throws whipped cream in people’s faces?”
He giggles. “Yeah.”
“Maybe play it with just Aunt Wren.” I will be front row, center with my camera ready to see my sister take a fake pie to the face.
“When will everyone get here?” he asks as I pull up to the duplex. We just left a party and he can’t wait to get the next one started. His social battery doesn’t quit.
“Not for a couple of hours. We have some time to relax.” Even though asking him to relax is like asking the sun to tone it down with its cheery rays. Not likely.
“This is the best day ever.”
I make eye contact with him in the rear-view mirror. “I’m with you, buddy.”
I have my own good news to celebrate.
We take his party loot and leftovers inside. Naturally, the first thing he wants to do is rush out the back door. Not even brand-new Lego sets and a marble run track can keep him from some playtime with Dutch. The dog is sunning himself in the yard but leaps up when August runs out with his new soccer ball, ready to start a game of one-on-one.
I haven’t figured out his rules, but he always knows the score.
Ian’s back door is wide open, so I head that way. I step over the threshold as I knock on the glass.
“I have exciting news?—”
And that’s it. That’s all I get out before I’m stopped cold in my tracks. Staring is a real problem for me with this man. Just when I think I’ve got myself under control, he throws me another curveball. Usually, the shirtless kind.
