Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
My eyes lift to his.
“I think it sounds brave,” he says. “And kind of badass.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “You’d say that even if I told you I wanted to raise a child in a yurt in Montana.”
“Would you let me help build the yurt?” he asks, deadly serious.
I snort. “As if I would live in one.”
Be serious.
We fall into silence again, but it’s a good silence—the kind that doesn’t feel like pressure or the need to fill space with noise. The kind of silence that lets you breathe a little deeper, like your body finally got the memo that you’re safe.
“I meant what I said. About wanting to be a mom. I think I’d be really protective. Maybe even kind of intense.”
“I can see that,” he says, propping his chin on his hand. “You’d be the mom who knows everyone in the school drop-off line by name. The one who sends themed snacks and has backup socks in her purse.”
I grin. “I’d have an emergency granola bar for every occasion.”
“And a playlist for car rides.”
“Obviously. And boundaries.”
“Now that’s parenting,” Luca says with a proud nod. “Therapists everywhere would applaud.”
“Thanks,” I say, smiling softly.
“You ever think about it?” I ask, because I want to know. Because we’re already halfway down this rabbit hole, and I don’t want to dig alone.
He shrugs. “Sometimes. Usually in passing. Like when I see a dad walking around with a baby strapped to his chest. I think that’s pretty cool.”
Pretty cool?
Oy.
“If you need a sperm donor who also knows how to assemble IKEA furniture, I’m your guy.”
“Oh my God.”
I shift uncomfortably, glancing away.
Too late. He caught me staring at his—
“Stop pretending you don’t like it,” Luca says; he knows exactly what he’s doing.
I force a breath out through my nose and stand, grabbing his now-empty plate to distract myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously useful,” he calls after me. “Do you even know how many people can’t assemble a crib properly?”
I shoot him a look over my shoulder. “Are you applying for the position of father, boyfriend, or general handyman?”
“Whichever comes with the best perks.”
He stands, following me to the sink.
I hate the way my body buzzes at the sound of his footsteps behind me. Hate it—and crave it all at once.
I busy myself with rinsing dishes while he dries them beside me, the two of us moving in sync like we’ve done this a hundred times.
It’s domestic.
Familiar. Intimate.
And entirely too dangerous.
His shoulder brushes mine as he reaches for the next plate. It’s not an accident. I know it. He knows I know it.
Neither of us says anything.
“So, to clarify,” he says, his tone playful; laced with something heavier. “You’ve considered raising a baby on your own, but you’re scandalized that I offered to help build you a yurt baby nursery?”
“Because.” I stifle a giggle. “You say things like that and then look at me like—”
“Like what?”
I hesitate.
“Like my vagina is open for baby business.”
I feel ridiculous saying the words and they make us both laugh.
“Speaking of your vagina…”
Oh lord.
I pause mid-rinse, turning toward him with a damp dish in my hand and my eyebrows somewhere near my hairline. “Luca.”
He grins. Slow.
Wicked.
He smirks, not moving an inch away. “I didn’t properly acquaint myself with Mavis—barely an introduction.”
I hadn’t even had an orgasm before I demanded he kiss me.
“And then your brother showed up,” he adds as if reading my mind, as serious as a priest recounting a failed exorcism.
“Tragic,” I whisper.
“Haunting,” he agrees.
We stand there facing one another—me clutching the dish towel like it’s the only thing keeping me from reaching for him, and Luca looking down at me like he’s plotting a séance.
The exorcism Poppy says I so desperately need.
“I think,” he muses. “Mavis should have the closure she deserves.”
A nervous laugh bursts out of my throat. “Are you suggesting you seduce the ghost of my unresolved sexual tension?”
He steps closer, leaning in just enough to make my breath catch.
“Only if she’s ready.”
My pussy tingles.
Oh, she’s ready all right…
But I don’t say it.
I can’t say it.
Because the second I open my mouth, I’m going to end up either begging or combusting, and both feel equally appalling things to say out loud. His hand lifts, slow and careful, brushing the damp dish towel out of my grip, dropping it on the counter.
The moment his fingers graze mine, it’s over.
I surge forward at the exact same second he pulls me in, and our mouths crash together like we’ve both finally stopped pretending we weren’t waiting for this.
This kiss is not polite. Not tentative. It’s the kind of kiss that burns.
His hand finds the curve of my jaw, tilting me just enough for his mouth to slide deeper against mine. I moan before I can stop it, gripping the front of his shirt like it’s the only thing tethering me to the kitchen floor.