Page 39 of Eternal Ember
“I look forward to taste testing for you.”
He stands up and walks around the table until he’s standing right next to me. His heat is distracting, calling to me in a way I’ve never felt outside of my heat, and I know he’ll be able to smell the pheromones flooding out of me.
“Despite the fuse, the mini-vampires, and the deadly meal,” he says, lifting a hand to brush a stray hair from my forehead, “would you consider this a successful first date?”
My. Heart. Stops.
This man is so romantic, and sweet, and beautiful. Inside and out.
The garden is dim now, lit only by a few stubborn candles and the final streaks of sunset.
“Itwaspretty terrible,” I say.
His face falls slightly, his disappointment clear.
“But I wouldn’t have changed a thing,” I finish with a cheeky grin.
The string lights that he wrapped around the garden burst to life, filling the small space with twinkles. It makes everything feel more intimate somehow. The house must be happy with how our date is going if it finally agreed to turn the lights on.
Relief flickers through his expression. He leans down, slowly, giving me every opportunity to pull away.
I don’t.
His lips press against mine, soft and sweet. A simple kiss in a beautiful garden with a beautiful man. The effect it has on me is life-altering. My heart beats double-time, my hands clenching with the effort it takes not to pull him closer, and my mind is blissfully blank of anything not Ember.
No thought.
Only warm feelings for this amazing alpha.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against mine.
“Next time, we can order takeout,” he murmurs, breathing a little harder than before.
“Next time, we eat inside,” I whisper, pulling him down for another kiss.
Chapter thirteen
Ember
Iam not jealous.
Let the record show that I am a mature adult capable of emotional regulation. That’s why I’m currently reorganizing the urn display for the second time today. It’s definitely not because Monica Broussard, a beautiful beta,triedto wink at Sunshine while at her husband’s cousin’s son’s pet rock’s funeral planning appointment.
So what if Sunshine laughed? He was probably just embarrassed for the woman who struggled to make a simple facial expression. It’s not hard to do, but the poor thing looked like she was struggling with it.
No. I didn’t practice to make sure I could do it before having these mean thoughts about a nice woman.
“I might start coming here more often,” Mrs. Broussard says, leaning against Sunshine’s desk like this was a coffee shop and not a place where we honor the dead.
I feel my spine go rigid.
Come here more often?
For what?
Frequent funeral punch cards?
I thought Sunshine threw those out.
