Page 51 of Rootbound
“I saw your light on. I sleptmaybean hour,” she huffs before letting herself in.
“Coffee?” I ask, adding as much cheeriness as I can into a single word. She plops down at the counter and nods.
“Why couldn’t you sleep? Nothingsweetto dream about?” This earns me a glare.
“It’s a billion degrees upstairs, so I tried to sleep downstairs on the couch, but I roll around too much… Here, hand me something to cut, I’m starving.”
I give her the peppers and leftover steak. She easily finds a knife and a cutting board, and we work side by side in comfortable silence—which seems like the safest option before her coffee kicks in.
“What’s got you smiling like that?” she says grumpily, leaning a perfect hip on the counter and eyeing me suspiciously over her mug.
“I don’t think I’m smiling,” I say, feeling my grin grow. “I just think I’m a morning person, and you’re not.”
“I’m so glad I continue to give you material to laugh at me with.”
“Honestly, me too.”
At that, she snorts, but finally cracks a small smile.
“I can only imagine how funny the mental image of me being hurled across the pond would be,” she says, giving me a light shoulder punch before reaching to refill her mug.
“Trust me,that’snot what I think of when the other night comes back to me.” Oops.
Her shoulders tense, but she looks back up at me sideways before we break into an awkward chuckle.
Determined to refocus, I plate our omelettes and go over today’s plan.
“I thought you might want to see some of the more functional parts of the ranch first before exploring more of the property, and I need to help out over at the garden today anyways.”
She shrugs merrily, the caffeine’s effects visible. “Sounds good to me. You like to garden, too? Is there anything you don’t get roped into doing around here?”
“It’s one of my favorite parts, actually.” And I can’t help but feel a little self-conscious, suddenly unsure aboutwhether or not she’d find my love of growing things particularly manly.
She slowly cocks her head in that studious little way of hers, and the gesture is so similar to the turn of her head before she kissed me back that night, that my jeans immediately feel tighter. God, I love the little seam that divides her bottom lip, the one that makes it into two pillows stuffed together.
I break eye contact to precisely cut an oversized bite of my omelette to hoover up. I feel her assessment while I do the dishes, studying me with a look I can’t make out. I told Grace I’d pick her up, but we’ve got an extra hour before I’m supposed to, and the thought of killing time fills my head with ideas that I grind my teeth to stomp out. I feel everywhere her eyes land on my body.
“Ask me something?” I say before I can change my mind.
“Huh?”
“Well, I feel you ogling me, and we’ve got time to kill. Ask me something if you want.”
I expect her to deny it, or to make some sarcastic and cutting remark about my ego, so she surprises me with her response. “Can’t be helped. I’m a sucker for watching a man clean. Especially one who does it well.” She shrugs again and bends down to scratch Belle.
Damnit, my whole chest feels like it fills up with air bubbles and a laugh barks out of me. “You should see my feather duster.” I waggle my brows, at which she puts a hand on her chest in mock surprise and bites her lip with an over-the-top “Oh my.”
Nope, nope. Abort. Can’t play-pretend flirt with her when I remember the taste of her mouth and skin. YesterdayI was prepared for her to call me on the bluff, but this early into today I can’t.
My face must look horrified, because she tosses her head back and starts laughing in victory, holding on to the counter for stability.
And, yet again, I get tunnel vision. Tait looks so damn beautiful in this moment, laughing with her entire body—the one that has no rhythm or predictability, tinkling out of her in chaos—that it hurts. I suck in a breath at the sudden realization that I, someone who is not inherently funny, want to be the one making her laugh like this, for as long as I can.
She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye as it settles. “Sorry. But I actually do know what I want to ask you!”
I swallow and try to pull myself together. “Go for it.”
“Can I see your playlists?”