Mine Would Be You (53)

Her words strike me like a shot to the heart.

I know that touch isn’t her thing, so the fact that she hasn’t let go, hasn’t pushed away but instead moved closer, strikes me deep.

I’ve never had a terrible relationship. Short ones, yes, insignificant ones, yes. But no relationship I’ve ever been in was serious enough for talks like this. For shit that might scare people away. I don’t understand how it’s so easy for me to tell her everything, to just let it out.

“I’ll work on it.” I wrap my hand around hers on my arm.

Tracing over her knuckles and the back of her hand with my finger, feeling her skin on mine and the calm, comforting aura of hers that wraps me into it. I give her a soft smile and watch her brown eyes soften at the sight.

And I feel a little less heavy than I did moments ago.

• • •

I’ve learned a few things about Nina Scott tonight.

One, despite the semi-cold exterior she puts up, the well-guarded front, is that she likes taking care of people. Likes knowing that people important to her are taken care of.

Two, I learn I’m one of those people. Even if it’s early, I’ve made the cut. I am slowly digging myself into her life. I hope that she continues to let me.

Three, she loves to bake. Which is how we ended up coated in flour.

“If you take one step closer to me, I will punch you,” she threatens as I step towards her, and she steps back.

I’ve got a wide grin on my face as I hold a cup of flour in my hands. She knows damn well she deserves it. There are a few splotches of flour over my bare chest, and a handprint from her on my cheek, and I’m pretty sure there’s some on my back. I watch her eyes trail slowly over my bare chest, my shirt hanging over the stool once the flour started being thrown, and take in every inch she can.

Pink starts crawling up her neck and onto her cheeks when she catches me watching her, all the blood in my body going south at her perusal of me. Her eyes quickly dart away and look anywhere but me now.

“It’s okay to look, you know. I don’t mind.” I step forward, and she glares at me, but it’s empty. “I know you like it.”

“Shut up.” She looks away again, but the flush deepens.

“Don’t think I will,” I laugh. “Come on, I just wanna give you a hug.” The cup of flour shakes loosely in my hand.

“Don’t sweet talk me, Ross,” she says, dipping her finger into the cookie dough and taking a bite. None of it has made it into the oven.

“You and I both know sweet talking you is my specialty.” Jenko meows at my words, and I’m really starting to love that cat as Nina turns to look at him, annoyed.

She mutters something to him, but I don’t hear it as I take advantage of her distraction. Because now I’m directly behind her, and when she turns around, shock fills her gaze, and I waste no time in dumping the entire cup of flour over her. Her jaw parts as it dusts her shoulders, her stomach, and her face. She blinks, trying to clear it from her eyes, but I can’t stop laughing at the sight.

A deep, full-bodied laugh, and god, it feels good to laugh. Nina is the only person who I thought of in the midst of everything that I had been feeling, and she didn’t push my feelings down, didn’t ignore them, instead acknowledged them and then insisted on making my day brighter. And she did.

I’m still chuckling when I stand back up, my stomach tight from excursion, and she watches me. Feigning anger, and I might’ve believed it, if her lips weren’t twitching. And I want to kiss the dusting of flour off her lips more than I want anything else.

As I step into her space, she tilts her head back to look at me. “You look beautiful,” I chuckle again, wiping the flour away from under her eyes.

My eyes latch onto the crook of her neck where her pulse quickens. I lean down, dusting my lips over her cheek and her nose until landing right above her lips, just enough to touch, and when they do, she steps back and rubs her hands, which have handfuls of flour, down both sides of my face.

“Sucker,” she murmurs lowly, stepping back with a big smile on her face as she takes me in, equally as covered in flour as she is.

Immediately, I start to chase her. Dead set on getting that kiss. She moves to the other side of the counter right before I catch up to her, snaking my arm around her waist and pulling her into my chest. Her laughter fills the room and fills any space left in my brain that’s not already occupied by her.

I lift her up, setting her on the counter next to the bowl of cookie dough, reveling in the huge smile on her face. Resting my arms on either side of her hips, I watch as she takes a long drink of wine and then leans forward and copies my earlier motions, wiping the flour from around my eyes.

She dips her finger into the dough when she’s done, but before it reaches her mouth, I grip her wrist and bring her finger to my own lips. Wrapping them around her finger and the glob of cookie dough, sucking just enough to feel her pulse quicken under my fingertips. Pure heat runs through my veins as I look at her, pulling her hand away from my mouth but keeping it in my own.

“I wanted that.” Her words come out breathlessly as she pouts.

“I wanted it more.”

Her brown eyes flare with heat, and I can’t look away. Not sure I ever want to because I don’t want to miss a thing. I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb softly through the flour, the heat of her skin searing my own. I wonder if she’s thought about kissing me as much as I have her since I dropped her off and left with a soft kiss goodbye.