Page 162 of A Curse On Black Lake
“Black?” I offer with a smile.
“Even black,” he grins.
“What’s your favorite color? Wait, no, let me guess,” he says.
I close my mouth, waiting for him to throw a color out there. I don’t think he’ll guess it because I don’t wear it a ton, but I love it.
He rubs his chin, and his lips purse while he thinks. “Pink?”
My eyes widen. “Wow, um, yeah.”
He leans back in his chair with a huge smile on his face. “I thought so.”
“How did you know?” I ask him. Heat pools in my belly, and my skin tingles. Is it hot in here? Did the AC stop working?
“I notice everything about you, little witch,” he says, like it’s a well-known fact that I love the color pink, even though the onlytime I’ve worn it in front of him was the dress with the flowers on it.
“What’s your favorite food?” I ask him.
He chuckles. “I feel like that’s fairly obvious.”
“Steak?” I guess.
He chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. His shirt stretches across his broad chest with the movement, and I watch the buttons struggle to stay together.
“Can I try to guess yours?” Killian asks.
“You can certainly try,” I tell him. There is no way he’ll guess.
“Peaches?” he throws out.
Too shocked to respond, I take another bite of dinner, but realize it’s my last one.
“Am I right?” he asks.
“How did you know that?” I ask him.
“Well, you had a whole bowl of them in your kitchen and then brought them here,” he says, throwing a thumb towards the countertop with my last one sitting on the counter next to the tomatoes.
“And you and your Grams planted peach trees, I assume, to feed your obsession.”
“Yeah, she told me we spent too much money on them, so we might as well grow and sell them.”
He smiles widely and wipes his face with a napkin, dropping it on his plate. “Done?” he asks, reaching for my plate.
I nod, still stupefied that he’s paid this much attention to me.
Killian stands, taking both of our plates to the sink. The tension in the air is so thick I could cut it with a butter knife.
My stomach flutters, and my hands ache to touch him, to feel the heat of his skin against mine. I don’t want to know where he starts and I begin.
“So for dessert, I thought you might like these,” he says on a chuckle, flipping open the freezer and pulls out a box.
My feet move slower than my heart, and I meet him next to the fridge. He gotpeachpopsicles.
“No popsicles.”
“Oh, did I buy the wrong ones?” he asks.
