Page 28 of Where You Are
“Anything I can do to get in the way?” I ask, leaning back against the counter with my arms crossed while I watch the beautifully half-naked woman milling around the kitchen like she’s lived here all her life. My heart thuds at the sight, and my dick is already raring to go again. Beautiful, radiant, smart, interesting, we have earth-moving sex, and she fucking cooks. Both body parts are surrendering without a fight.
“Sure,” she chirps, pulling the carrots out of the crisper drawer and holds them out to me. “You can peel these.”
I do as instructed, and afterward, I can’t help spending the rest of the time peering over her shoulder with my arms around her waist. She’s happy and content and I just can’t help basking in it.
While the noodles are boiling, she gets started on what she says will be sweet sticky rice for dessert. Apparently it can be complicated, but she learned a trick where she can microwave it to achieve the right consistency.
I crack us both open a beer and head outside to get a fire going in the pit, not worried about anyone seeing me. This property has the acreage and trees to offer plenty of privacy. Once the fire is crackling, I turn to find Melanie coming through the slider, carrying two heaping dishes of incredible lookingpancit.
We sit at the wood table at the corner of the deck and watch the sun turn the sky a beautiful orange that reflects off the lake. The food is fucking mind blowing, like nothing I’ve ever tasted. I help myself to seconds, even though my stomach has no need for it. Make that a third part of my body that’s falling hard for Melanie.
MELANIE
We sit at the table for a while after finishing eating, just listening to music, enjoying our beers and each other’s company. We talk some more about light issues and deep ones too, while our dinner settles. We start talking about what each of us wants in the future and the subject of what I want to do now that I’m back comes up again. Yet it still catches me off guard when he leans forward, placing his beer bottle on the table to ask me,
“How many kids do you want?”
I freeze for a split second but quickly relax my shoulders. On one hand, some see it as a bigfaux pasto talk about these things so early, but on the other, it’s good to know before you’re in too deep. Besides, he’s asking.
“At least two. Three if it’s possible.”
He gives a small smile, nodding at me.
“And it would be nice if they could be adopted.” I tack onto the end, and watch his eyebrows go up.
“Wow,” he says with affection in his voice. “You want to adopt, that’s amazing.”
I lift a shoulder. “I just like the idea of showing a child that’s been cast aside by someone who was supposed to love and care for them that they can still be loved. Enough so that someone would actually choose them.”
His mouth parts and his eyes hold mine with a look of wonder in them. They’ve taken on the denim blue color of the water you see in most ocean views in England; dark and glassy. He slides closer to me, cradling the side of my face in his large warm hand that’s callused and rough, yet so gentle it’s like the safest place in the world.
“Mel,” his voice is grumbly, and thick with emotion. “I swear, every day you show me a new reason to be crazy about you. And now I can’t get over how beautiful your heart is.”
I don’t have a response to that, other than an appreciative smile as I lean into his hand.
“My mind always went straight to having kids the old-fashioned way; seeing them look like me or my wife and all that. But the way you just described sounds amazing too.”
“You could always do both you know,” I point out gently. He smiles for a moment before answering.
“You could too.”
“One day.”
“One day,” he repeats back, and we get caught in one of our little magical stares.
“Okay,” I say with a gentle change of subject as I place my hand over his that still holds the side of my face. “Are you ready for dessert?”
“Are you kidding? You’ve already stuffed me with your phenomenalpancit. Are you trying to kill me?”
“Ahem, I only fed you. You stuffed yourself. I didn’t tell you to eat that second helping, and you’re not getting out of trying this,” I say as I scoot out of my chair and dash lightly to the kitchen to get the sweet sticky rice out of the fridge.
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” he asks, holding a hand against his flat abs.Please.
“Just try a little, and if you’re too full, we can save it for breakfast tomorrow. It goes great with mangos. Now come on,” I prod, cutting out a small section and putting it on his plate.
“It looks like white rubber,” he muses, poking it with his fork.
“Try it.”