Page 23 of Merry Little Sugar Rush
The only problem is, what I’m feeling for him isn’t quite so friendly, if you know what I mean.
I’m completely attracted to him.
I give the slow cooker contents a quick stir and replace the lid. Garlic bread is in the oven, and the table is set. I prepared one of my favorite chicken pasta dishes tonight, one I don’t make as much as I’d like, mostly because it makes enough to feed an army, and while I don’t mind leftovers, I don’t want to eat it for a week straight either.
A distant knock sounds on the back door, so I quickly move to my apartment door. Just as I’m pulling it open to wave him up, Burk is stepping through the lower doorway and glances up. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I reply. “Usually, I keep that door locked.”
He nods in understanding and engages the locks, both the knob one and the deadbolt, before returning his attention my way and climbing the stairs. It’s the first time I notice one of his hands is holding a plant, and I can’t help but smile.
As he reaches the platform in front of me, he grins and extends his hand. “This is for you.”
The small potted poinsettia plant with its beautiful white leaves is a stark contrast against the dark coat he’s wearing. The red and white ceramic vase resembling Santa’s coat will look perfect in my holiday decorated apartment. “Thank you,” I reply as I take the pot. “Come on in. Dinner’s ready.”
My apartment seems so much smaller with Burk inside. He’s tall, sure, but everything around me just feels tighter with him here. It’s not unwelcome, not in the least. In fact, his presence is the exact opposite. Iwanthim here. With me.
I place the potted poinsettia on the counter and check the garlic bread in the oven. “You haven’t decorated your tree.”
I turn around, knowing this was going to be one of the first things he’d notice. “No, I, uh, hoped you’d be willing to help me.”
“Really?” His brown eyes are wide with anticipation.
I shrug and reach for a hand towel, wringing it in my hands. “Yeah, well, it would be nice to have some help with it. You’re tall, you know. You can wrap the top of the tree with the lights,” I state with a chuckle.
He grins. “I’d be honored to assist.”
“Great,” I beam back just as the timer goes off.
Pulling the warm bread from the oven, I quickly place our meal in the center of the table. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Just water, please,” he states, moving toward the table. He doesn’t sit, however, just waits for me to join him.
I can tell he’s waiting for me to take a seat first, so I place two glasses of water on the table and pull out my chair. Only when I do that does he take the available seat across from me. My table is a small two-seater, but it fits the space and my lifestyle perfectly.
The gentleman that he is, Burk offers me the spoon and waits for me to place a scoop of the Italian chicken pasta bake onto my plate before taking some for himself. “This smells amazing,” he tells me, placing two hearty spoonfuls on his plate.
“Thank you. It’s a pretty simple recipe, but it just makes so much. If you like it, I may be sending some home with you for leftovers,” I reply with a chuckle, grabbing a piece of garlic bread and holding the plate out for him.
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” he replies, grabbing two pieces of bread. “Gram has been cooking for all of us, but she usually spends dinners at the hospital with Gramps, leaving me to fend for myself.”
“How’s he doing?” I ask, even though I got an update from my dad earlier today.
We spend our meal talking about the positive steps his grandpa is taking toward recovery, as well as Burk getting to know his grandma and extended family again. I’m sure it’s weird being back here when you lost so many years and have hardly spoken to any of them. I couldn’t imagine not having my parents right there—literally and figuratively. And Eve? The thought of not being close to my sister makes my stomach drop.
By the time our bellies are full, it feels so comfortable and familiar to be sitting with him at the table that I wish I could start the meal over and do it all again. This is exactly when I realize asking him to help me decorate my Christmas tree was the right move. It’s an incredibly personal and slightly intimate gesture, sure, but more than that it feels like I’m sharing a piece of myself with my best friend.
“So, what do you say? You ready to help me decorate that tree?” I ask the moment the leftovers are placed into two plastic containers and slipped into the refrigerator.
He props his hip against the counter, his eyes smiling with mirth. “Are you going to boss me around and tell me I’m doing it wrong?”
“Absolutely,” I confirm.
Burk barks out a laugh and claps his hands together. “Well, I do love it when a gorgeous woman gets a little bossy.”
My heart flutters in my chest, and I feel my cheeks blush. My brain crosses the invisible line in the sand that separates appropriate from inappropriate, and it doesn’t seem to bother me one bit that I’m standing on what is probably considered thewrong side. All I can think about is being intimate with him and throwing out a few bossy demands.
I don’t hate the idea.
