Page 172 of A Taste of Vanilla

I want her so badly it’s difficult to think about.

My hand tightens on the table until my palm loses feeling.

Halston’s fingers soften in my hair.

“Hey,” she says, quieter now.

It makes my chest ache. The softness of her voice despite being angry with me.

I lift my head, and she looks at me with swollen lips, dark eyes, and loose hair around her face. Beautiful in a way that makes me feel reckless and protective, yet ashamed of both.

“No,” I say.

She freezes.

I see the heat in her expression fold inward, and the damage is done before I can stop it.

“No?” she whispers.

I step back immediately, her hands falling from my shirt.

“I didn’t mean?—”

She hops down from the prep table, tugging her sweatshirt back onto her shoulder. “Right.”

“Halston.”

“No, that’s fine.” She reaches for the bowl. “That’s probably the smart thing, right? The efficient thing. No demand spikes. No emotional specials.”

I close my eyes. “Stop.”

She laughs, but there’s nothing light about it. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I being inconsistent?”

“That’s not?—”

“Then what is it?”

I open my eyes.

Her cheeks are flushed, her mouth still marked from mine. Her eyelashes are wet.

“It’s complicated,” I say.

But I know I’m wrong from the second the words leave my mouth.

“Wow.”

“Marley—”

“She’s an adult.”

“She doesn’t want anything to happen. She doesn’t know about this.” I gesture between us and regret it immediately.

Halston looks at the space between us. “This,” she says quietly. “What is this, Warren?”

I don’t answer.

There are too many answers, and each one of them asks something of me that I don’t know how to give.