Page 24 of When the Walls Come Down
Everything in it would soon be on fire if I didn’t step away and tend to the stove—that included me.My shoulder.
My fucking shoulder.
I’d even given him the smoldering bedroom eyes and then fluttered my lids shut in silent invitation and everything. And Shane kissed my shoulder. I couldn’t tell if I was losing my game, he had a weird upper arm fetish, or he’d chickened out big time.
My bet was on the last one. But why?
Though, if I were being honest, unconventional as it was, it wasn’t the worst kiss I’d ever received. Soft and purposeful, his lips swept over my collarbone, sending a wave of chills down my spine. The tip of his tongue stole the occasional taste, and each time, it left me longing for more. More that he made no attempt to give me, not even after I slanted my head to allow him room to explore my neck.
“I should…check on the sauce,” he murmured without stepping away.
Gripping the side of his shirt, I pulled him closer. “Or you could let it burn.”
I felt his smile against my skin. As much as I loved that damn smile, it was not the reaction I’d hoped for. However, tearing my clothes off, carrying me to his bed, making me come a time or twelve? Absolutely was. Especially after it’d felt like I’d been waiting for this exact moment all evening.
Sure, it had been by far the strangest date of my life. Let’s be serious, the man took me to get a library card and then on a walk past his favorite dry cleaner. I’d been on more romantic dates with my brother. But there was something so inherently charming about Shane that his idiosyncrasies were almost magical.
Magical. Barf. Cliché. I know. But there was no other way to describe it. He was funny, and for as sarcastic he was, he showed nothing but genuine interest every time I opened my mouth. He paid attention when I talked. Deep and rapt.
We’d passed dozens of people on the sidewalk, but it might as well have been just the two of us. During that walk around town, I hadn’t cared if the next stop was the post office, the DMV, or an appliance store. I’d just had fun.
Honestly, it wasn’t like the tour of the seven blocks surrounding our building wouldn’t come in handy. The crazy, mundane date was possibly one of the most thoughtful things he could have done. It was welcoming and comforting and the best day I’d had in California.
And then there were the lilacs.
Men had bought me flowers in the past. It was always a sweet and appreciated gesture. But what’s your favorite flower was sometimes equivalent to what’s your favorite color—as far as first-date, get-to-know-you small talk went. Boring.
However, I can honestly say no one had ever asked me about my mother’s favorite flower. He had no idea of the promises I’d made myself when I’d moved to San Francisco or that I climbed out of bed—or off the couch, rather—each morning to live the life she’d never gotten. So when he’d ordered every lilac the small street florist had—a bundle so large that I’d had to use two hands to carry it—our evening had become more special than any grand over-the-top date he could have taken me on.
Romance was all about the small things. The details. And he didn’t miss much.
Like lilacs—and now, slow and sexy shoulder kisses.
His head popped up and his eyes danced with heat and humor as he said, “My sister is probably waiting on standby for pictures of this meal. Please don’t make me send her scalded sauce and mushy pasta.”
I laughed and reluctantly released his shirt.
He padded back around the island and flipped all the burners off.
While he stirred and tasted, I glanced around his apartment. The place was bright, clean, and minimalist. But with dark leather furniture and a large TV mounted on the wall, it looked every bit the bachelor pad.
The dozens of photos of children with curly, dark hair, varying in age from babies to maybe five or six on his fridge were intriguing though. He was after all thirty-three. It wasn’t only possible he had kids, but if he had moved at the speed with which my siblings had, it was likely too.
I was a very mature twenty-four, so it hadn’t mattered to me that Shane was older, though I wasn’t sure how I felt about the prospect of him having children.
“Are those your kids?” I asked boldly before taking another sip of wine.
He carried the pot of noodles to the sink and dumped them into a colander, cussing under his breath when it splashed everywhere. He looked up and followed my gaze to the refrigerator. “No, they’re my nieces and nephew. Wake, Roe, and Maddox belong to my sister, who we can thank for the assistance on this meal. And the tiny one on the top right is Mila, who unfortunately I haven’t met in person yet because she lives in Switzerland. I’d steal them if I could though. I love those little shits.”
