Unforgettable (Cloverleigh Farms #5)(52)

He gave me a kiss for that.

“Use the cutting board right there.”

He washed his hands and got to work while I put together a spinach salad. “Have you heard from Sadie?” I asked.

“Yes. I called her this morning to tell her I was staying in town a little longer, and of course she begged me to please bring in their mail while they’re away. And before you ask, yes, I did it today.”

I smiled and tossed the spinach into a big round bowl. “They’re in New Orleans, right? When are they back?”

“Yes. Thursday. I also have to take out their trash and recycling on Wednesday night.”

“What a nice brother you are,” I said, cutting up a tomato.

“I am a nice brother. I don’t even take out my own trash and recycling,” he complained.

“What? That is ridiculous. Who on earth takes out your trash and recycling?”

“My housekeeper. She’s the only person I can tolerate in my house for long periods of time. She’s awesome. Not only does she keep my house clean, but she shops and cooks for me too. And she’ll put each meal in a container and label it with what it is and instructions for reheating it. Sometimes she even puts a little smiley face on the note.”

“Oh my God,” I said, laughing as I tossed the tomatoes on top of the lettuce. “You’re like a fourth grader. Do you call her Mommy?”

“No, I call her Anna, and I pay her very, very well to put up with me. She has a good salary and benefits, and I also just bought her a car because hers wasn’t reliable and she does so much driving for me. She comes to the cabin once a week too.”

“Well, good.” I started slicing a cucumber. “Does she get a vacation while you’re here?”

“Yes, she does. I called her this morning and told her she could have the week off—paid, of course.”

“Good man.” I paused. “Did you book your return flight?”

“No. I kind of forgot about doing that.”

I was glad my back was turned so he couldn’t see my gigantic smile.

“Okay, the bread is sliced,” he said. “What else can I do?”

“Want to taste the sauce?”

“Yes, please.”

Over at the stove, I handed him the wooden spoon. “Here. Give it a stir, and then taste. Be careful, it’s hot.”

He took the lid off the pot, stirred, and tasted. Then he smiled. “So good. And it totally reminds me of you.”

I laughed. “Oh, come on, you’ve had pasta sauce a billion times since high school.”

“And every time, it reminded me of you.”

My heart beat a little faster. “Liar.”

“That’s the truth, I swear,” he said. “There were always certain things that reminded me of you.”

“Like what?”

“Red hair, dimples, the smell of birthday cake. Weren’t there things that reminded you of me?”

I thought about it while I took the spoon and tasted the sauce. “Baseball,” I told him, reaching for the salt. I added a little to the sauce and stirred again. “And for a while, sex.”

“Really?” He seemed pleased about it. “Sex?”

“Well, yes.” I glanced at him. “But it was sort of terrifying.”

He frowned. “That is not as hot as I wanted it to be.”

Laughing, I set the spoon back on the rest. “Well, after what happened my first time, I was scared of having sex again because I was worried about getting pregnant. So you were the only guy I ever had sex with for a pretty long time.”

“How long?”

“About four years. And even then, I was a nervous wreck.”

He looked contrite. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I got over it. It’s not like it was a mystery why I got pregnant, Tyler, or even bad luck—it was biology. We had unprotected sex. We were eighteen. It’s like the most fertile time in a girl’s life, which is just a cruel joke, but that’s another issue.”

“I still feel bad.”

“Don’t.” I couldn’t resist giving those lips a quick kiss before turning off the burner beneath the sauce. “I told you—I was glad you were my first.”

He caught me around the waist from behind. “Me too.”

Later, after we’d had dinner at the kitchen table, dessert on the couch in front of the television, and sex on my living room floor because we were too impatient to make it upstairs, we laughed that our pace was getting closer to what it had been in the back of his truck.

“I can’t help it,” he said, lying on his back next to the coffee table. “You just make me lose control.”

I was straddling him, my hands braced above his shoulders, my hair dangling over his chest. “I’m not complaining. And I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that. I won’t even make any rifle jokes.”

“Good.” He squeezed my hips, then sighed. “I should probably go.”

“You don’t have to.” Leaning forward, I rubbed my lips back and forth against his. “You can stay over again if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I’ll even give you a toothbrush.” I grinned. “But if you leave the cap off my toothpaste, I’m kicking your ass out.”