Page 63 of Taking the Pitch
She releases my shirt, and I instantly miss the small contact. Smiling up at me, she lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll tell you when I do.”
“I hope everyone saved some room because I have two new desserts to try,” Mom announces, setting two dishes in the center of the dining table. Groans and a hooray from Hudson sound around the table.
“Give me five more minutes and I’m sure I’ll be hungry again,” Lucy says, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her baby bump.
“I have room!” Hudson chimes in, practically drooling over the desserts in front of him.
Chuckles sound from around the table as mom cuts into the desserts. Placing the first plate in front of Hudson, who dives right in.
“So good, Grandma. What’s this one?” he asks around a mouthful of food.
“Hudson James, do not talk with your mouth full,” Lucy chides, trying to hold back a smirk.
Mom chuckles while setting a plate in front of Amelia, then me. “Thank you, Hudson. That one is no-bake cranberry cheesecake with a graham cracker and pretzel crust. And the other is caramel apple crumble.”
I watch as Amelia takes a bite of the crumble and closes her eyes, humming in delight. The sound goes straight to my dick. I watch as she puts another bite into her mouth, plush lips wrapping around the fork. I’ve never been so jealous of an inanimate object in my life, but here I am wishing my dick was a damn fork.
My hand reaches forward before my brain comprehends what it’s doing, and I use the pad of my thumb to wipe away a drop of caramel at the corner of her lips. She turns to look at me, eyes dilating as I stick my thumb in my mouth, sucking the caramel off it.
Something has shifted between us. I caught her sneaking glances at me all throughout dinner. Laying her arm on the table next to mine so it’s touching. Not enough to draw attention, but just enough to feel it. She even scooted her chair closer to me when she came back from the bathroom. I try to remind myself not to read into it, that it’s nothing. But my heart is telling me a whole lot of nothings put together is something.
A throat clears from across the table, pulling me out of another Amelia haze. When I look over, I see Kessler and Lucy looking at us with amused expressions.
“So, which one do we all like better?” Mom asks. If she noticed the interaction between Amelia and me, she’s doing a good job of not noticing, or at least not drawing attention to it.
“I like them both,” Hudson says, piling the last bite of crumble into his mouth.
Kessler snorts. “Shocker.”
“Honestly, Mom, they’re both really good. I don’t think I can choose,” Lucy says while nibbling at her desserts. Kessler nods in agreement.
“I have to agree with Lucy, hun. I can’t choose either,” Dad says, finishing off his plate.
“You all are no help.” She turns to Amelia and me. “What about you two? Are you going to help me narrow it down?”
I stretch and lay my arm across the back of Amelia’s chair. “Sorry Mom, but I can’t decide either. You’re just too good of a baker.”
“Flattery will usually get you somewhere, Juddson, but not when I need to narrow down what desserts to make for Thanksgiving.” She turns to Amelia. “You’re my last hope, dear.”
Amelia sits up. “Oh, I don’t think my opinion matters. I won’t even be here.”
“Your opinion matters, my dear. Whether you’re here or not. Which one wouldyoumake for your family?”
Amelia bites her bottom lip and looks down at her plate, eyes unfocusing. The corner of her mouth lifts a little. “My mom always loved homemade cranberry sauce. We always made an extra big batch and ate it on everything. Biscuits, pancakes, toast.” She huffs a small laugh and looks up at Mom. “Dad always said canned was best and, even though he knew he wouldn’t like it, would try our homemade stuff every year just to appease Mom. Mom wouldn’t get the canned stuff out until he tried it.”
Mom laughs. “They sound like lovely people. Will you be with them this year?”
Amelia’s smile falls, and she shakes her head. “No, they…” She pauses and clears her throat. “They passed away almost nine years ago.” She lifts a shoulder. “Just me and Bruno this year.”
Mom’s chair scrapes across the floor as she gets up and sits in the empty seat next to Amelia, placing a hand on hers. “I am so sorry.” Mom’s eyes flick to mine and back to Amelia’s. “I didn’t know.”
That makes two of us. I grab her other hand and give it a squeeze. She gives it a small squeeze back. I expect her to pull it away after, but she lets me keep my hand on hers.
Amelia shakes her head. “It’s okay. I don’t really talk about it much.”
“You are more than welcome to join us for Thanksgiving,” Mom tells her. “In fact, I insist.”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to intrude on your family’s day. I promise, I’ll be fine. I have a day of binge watching my favorite show and eating Chinese food planned.”
