Page 76 of Beautiful Crazy
There’s just something so nostalgicabout sitting outside, listening to the birds chirp while eating fresh, homemade biscuits and jam.
As I’m placing the cut-out biscuits on the cookie sheet, a knock sounds at the door. “Hang on,” I call out, rinsing the flour off my hands quickly before drying them with a towel. Walking down the hall, I pull open the front door,smiling when I see who’s on the other side. “I didn’t think you were coming back until tomorrow.”
Everett steps inside, his ocean eyes drinking me in as his arm hooks around my waist, pulling me into him. He dips his head down, pressing his lips to mine, and I breathe out a contented sigh as I melt into the touch. He’s only been gone a week, but it feels like so much longer. I didn’t realize how deeply intertwined Everett had become in mine and Sutton’s everyday lives until he wasn’t here.
We’ve texted and talked on the phone while he’s been gone, but nothing beats this… his arms around me and his lips devouring mine in a way that tells me he missed this as much as I did. What he told me before he left and everything my sisters said have been heavy on my mind all week, and I think this distance has solidified everything I need to know about what I want.
Pulling apart, Everett drags his gaze down my body before coming back up to my face again. “You look sexy and domestic,” he says with a grin that makes my stomach dip.
Laughing, I walk us back to the kitchen. “Yeah, you caught me right in the middle of baking.”
“What are you making?”
“Biscuits, and I was about to make some homemade strawberry jam.”
“Can I help?”
Turning my head, my gaze connects with his, and my body warms. “You want to help make jam with me?” I ask, biting back a huge smile.
Everett’s lips curl up. “I wanna do everything with you.”
My breath gets caught in my throat and a wave of goosebumps bloom over my skin.
Cocking a brow, I ask, “Have you ever made jam before?”
He shakes his head, smirking. “No, but I have no doubt you’d be a great teacher.”
“You want me to be your teacher, Mr. Windward?”
Throat rolling against a swallow, I swear his eyes darken as they take me in, desire written all over his face. “I’d like that very much,” he rasps, sending a shiver down my spine. “And then maybe when we’re done, if I’ve been a good boy, you could reward me.”
Heat floods my core, and I press my thighs together tighter to try to relieve some of the ache that one sentence caused. “I like the sound of that,” I reply. Reaching into the drawer next to the oven, I grab a spare apron, tossing it his way. “Put that on.”
As I finish preparing the biscuits to go into the oven, Everett gets the strawberries, sugar, and lemon juice out that we need for the jam. “Toxic”by Britney Spears starts playing, and I can’t help but laugh as I turn around and face him. His head is bobbing to the beat, and he lip-syncs the lyrics, the act so innocent and adorable. It makes my stomach flutter. Not to mention, he looks so damn hot standing before me with a white-and-light-blue-checkered apron tied around his neck and waist. My nipples harden beneath my tank top as my mouth dries.
“You keep looking at me like that, and we won’t get much done in here,” Everett says huskily as he closes the distance between us. Hands going to my hips, he nuzzles his face into my neck, breathing me in.
Leaning into his touch, I let my head fall back onto my shoulders. This was a bad idea, because now I want to say screw making jam, and take him to my room instead. Thankfully—or not so thankfully—Everett seems to have a better sense of self-control than I do because after a few beats, he pulls back, his dark, heated eyes finding mine.
“Okay, show me what to do.”
“You’re evil,” I groan, body thrumming with need for him.
“Just imagine how much fun we can have once we’re done,” he offers with a shrug and a cocky smirk. “Now, teach me.”
I don’t know how I manage, but I do. Insisting on doing everything himself, I talk him through mashing up the strawberries in a large bowl before combining those with the sugar and lemon juice in a pot on the stove.
As we wait for the mixture to come to a rolling boil, he asks, “Does everyone in your family like to bake?”
“Sort of.” I shrug. “We baked a lot with our mom growing up. As you can imagine, living in a small town, there’re plenty of opportunities for bake sales and birthdays, and back then, bringing homemade goodies was preferred over store-bought. For me, a lot of baking reminds me of those times.”
“Do you guys ever bake together now?”
I nod, smiling. “Yup. Every year around Christmastime, we all get together and make a ton of holiday goodies. Except now we do it all at Grace’s bakery instead of piling into one of our kitchens.”
“That sounds fun.” His features soften as he looks overat me, continuing to stir the strawberry mix as he does. “I love how close you are with your family.”
A pang of sadness fills my chest at knowing Everett doesn’t have the same with his.Maybe my family will become his one day.The thought takes me by surprise, but I can’t deny the warmth it fills me with at even thinking it.