Page 39 of Wolves & Watercolors
“So we have some time to kill?” I say, leaning against the counter beside him with my elbow against the cold steel.
Cedar’s attention snags on the way my chest sticks out, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling. He clears his throat. “Can you stir? I need to get more… um, stuff.” I want to gloat overhow his cheeks tinge pink and his eyes glue to the ground. I’m flirting with danger, but I can’t resist. His lingering looks and soft touches are driving me crazy.
We’re alone here. The garden is open to anyone walking by, but in this small space, no one can see us. It’s quiet. Private.
He sets two jars down beside the pot, and tries to take over the stirring again, but I don’t release the spoon. His fingers curl over mine, and I peek over my shoulder. He swallows visibly but doesn’t move his hand.
The thermometer beeps, and he uses his hold over my hand to tug the spoon out. Warm milk drips on the counter. “We need to add the culture.”
“Okay,” I say, breathless. He opens a jar and measures out a spoonful of powder. “Just sprinkle it over the top.”
Gingerly, I take the spoon and do my best to obey his instructions. It peppers the top and floats there. “Do we stir it in?”
“Not yet. It needs a minute to bloom.” We both watch the clock. “It’s been long enough.”
Turning the spoon in my grasp, I stir the powder into the milk. “Now what?”
“It has to cook for a long while.” His chest rises and falls. “It’s converting the lactose to lactic acid.”
Spinning, I edge closer to him, away from the pot.
“You like the science part, don’t you?” I ask, pleased when he doesn’t move away from me. The stove warms my back, and I revel in the heat of his body at my front.
Cedar’s eyes flicker between mine, occasionally dropping down to my mouth. “It’s interesting.”
It’s clear he’s interested, but I suspect he won’t do anything about it. I want to drag him closer and kiss him, but that last shred of caution holds me back. Taking a slow, unsteady breath, I speak my thoughts.
“Hazel said you don’t date.”
“You asked about me?” he says, his mouth curving into a smirk.
My fist props on my hip. “Well? Do you?”
“I haven’t.” His voice is hoarse, making my toes curl.
“That’s not quite the same,” I murmur. “If you haven’t dated, have you kissed anyone?”
The pause almost kills me. He could get irritated with me or embarrassed. The pink flush is back in his cheeks but he clears his throat and says, “No.”
Anxiety and excitement bubble up, stronger, buzzing in my chest. “Have you ever wanted to?”
Hopefully I’m being clear enough. He stills, tension through his shoulders as he holds our eye contact. “It hadn’t crossed my mind.”
“Not at all?”
“Not until recently,” he admits, and my fingers itch to touch him, but I want him to make the first move. It’s worth the infuriating amount of self-control I’m currently exerting.
His eyes lower to my mouth. I’ve almost got him. “You know,” I say, wetting my lips, “we have over an hour with nothing to do.”
He hums in agreement. The sound vibrates through my bones.
“If you wanted to kiss me, I think I’d really like that.” A flush paints my own cheeks, turning my neck and ears cherry red. The moment waiting for his reaction makes me want to curl up in embarrassment. But he hasn’t rejected me yet. It’s a struggle to breathe.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he says, but his hand moves to my waist. His fingers squeeze and knead my skin and I know I have him. It’s a fight to keep my eyes open with how good it feels.
“It’s just us,” I whisper.
Cedar
