Mrs. Larson gathers her belongings and moves toward the foyer. It’s only seconds before we hear the click of the door. Alone, the electricity in the room is obvious. Zipping through me and, if I had to guess, Dakota too. She looks at her hands, her purse in the left and the cake container in the right. Without thinking, she thrusts the container in my hand and rushes away.
“I’ll be right back,” she whisper shouts as she rushes down the hall.
Chapter 22
Dakota
I cannot believe I just threw my cake at Grant and ran away like my tail was on fire. That’s not true. Nobody is surprised I did just that, least of all me. I have no idea what I’m doing. Going out to dinner at a public place is one thing but inviting him inside after? That’s completely outside my comfort zone. Not that he makes me uncomfortable. Just the opposite.
Grant Ellison makes me very comfortable and has reignited the woman in me. When he looks at me, my heart skips a beat. But when he touches me every nerve ending in my body activates. It’s like a surge of awareness and excitement. He’s like an onion. Layers upon layers of interesting facts and responses. He isn’t brooding or mysterious, but there is an underlying vibe that he struggles with his past. I want to know more about him. Maybe opportunities like sharing a slice of cake will open the door to him sharing.
Tugging the blue jersey dress over my head, I toss it into the delicate hamper and rush to my dresser for a pair of leggings as I contemplate my choice for a top. I don’t want to look like a bum, but I do want to appear casual. My favorite oversized sweater strewn on my bed from earlier catches my eye. Perfect.
I unclasp my bra and replace it with a tank top and slip my arms into the sleeves of my sweater. The soft cotton envelopes me and puts me at ease when I need it most. Next, I remove the clip from my hair and run my fingers through the tresses.
Not wanting to take more time, I quickly remove the bright lip stain from my mouth and replace it with a swipe of my coconut lip balm. Padding my way down the hall, I hear clanking of plates and silverware in the kitchen and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
“Mmm the coffee smells amazing,” I comment, sliding onto the stool at the breakfast bar.
“I found some decaf. I hope that’s okay.”
“Perfect. Why don’t we take our dessert into the living room?”
Taking the plates from the counter, I motion with my head for him to follow and move toward the living room. I glance around the room for the remote and when I spot it, set the plates on the table and flip on the television and one of my favorite music channels.
“Fleetwood Mac?” Grant asks with a bit of judgment in his voice as he places our coffees on the table next to the plates.
“Stevie Nicks is an icon.” I cannot believe he’s questioning this.
With his hands up in defense he smiles. “I’m just surprised is all. No judgment. I approve in fact.”
Suddenly overwhelmed with the moment, I don’t move immediately. If I sit in the corner, he’ll sit on the opposite side. While I’m unsure of what I want to happen next, I don’t want him a mile away from me either. Maybe if I distract myself with something . . . a blanket. I could get a blanket. No. I’ll overheat and be a mess.
Oh no. Here it comes. Giggling. This is not the time for me to awkwardly laugh. Talk about buzzkill. Closing my eyes, I inhale.
One . . .
Two . . .
Breathe . . .
One . . .
Two . . .
Breathe . . .
“Are you okay?” Grant’s deep timber startles me and I turn quickly to face him. Sitting on the couch, he begins to rise, and to stop him I toss my body onto the spot next to him. That wasn’t weird or anything. Nope.
“Yep, fine. Super fine. I was about to have a laughing fit and tried to suck it down. I do that sometimes. Sorry.” As I ramble, I situate myself more comfortably and realize I’m in exactly the right spot. Not so close to Grant that I can feel the warmth of him but close enough that he could reach out and touch me. If he wanted.
“Since it’s your cake, you should take the first bite.”
“If you insist,” I squeal and snatch my plate from the table. As the rich chocolate hits my taste buds, the sound that comes from me would be embarrassing if I cared. I don’t. This is the most decadent thing I’ve tasted in a long time.
Grant clears his throat and shifts in his seat drawing my attention from the cake to him. His eyes are wide, mouth slightly open, and I realize exactly how I sounded.
“This is delicious, you should try it.” My date is a good guy. He won’t point out I sound like a porno while eating cake. There’s no way he’ll comment on his own reaction. Not Grant Ellison.
He shifts in his seat and I realize he isn’t holding his plate. Instead, his eyes are focused on my mouth. Frozen I feel my pulse increase as the fork in my hand clanks on the plate. Not moving, I watch as he seems to struggle with what to do.
Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to kiss me?
Yes. I do. I absolutely do. Just thinking of what it would feel like to kiss him sends a shiver across my skin. Nerves wrack my entire body. Not so casually, I shift the plate to my lap as he lifts his hand, thumb brushing my lip.
“You have a crumb here.”
Lifting his hand, he settles his crumb covered thumb to his mouth. I’ve seen this type of scene in movies. Of course, it’s usually a woman being seductive with her tongue slowly licking the food from the digit. Now that I see Grant doing the same move, I now understand the appeal.
My breath is labored and, while a part of my brain is nervous and battling the slightest bit of guilt, excitement for what is to come pushes all of that aside. Slowly, he leans forward, his hand cupping my cheek.
“Dakota.” My name is a plea on his lips.
“Yeah?”
“I’m trying really hard to do this right. To take it slow.”
Lifting my hand to his, I lick my lips, his eyes homing in on my mouth before rising. His deep brown eyes are almost black. Desire at war with his integrity.
“You are doing everything right.”
Five words grant him the permission he’s seeking. It feels like a lifetime before his lips are on mine. Soft and gentle, his kiss is chaste. Sweet and slow. Nonetheless, it lights me up from the inside. The blood in my veins is on fire, my heartbeats skip, and my core throbs.
Years. It’s been years since a man has touched me like this. Years since I’ve wanted a man other than Jeff to pour himself into me. Pulling back, I’m slow to open my eyes. We’re only inches from one another, his warm breath mingling with my own.
“Wow.”
My lack of a vocabulary doesn’t seem to deter Grant. Instead, a slow and sexy smirk appears on his lips as he removes the cake from my lap and sets it on the table. This time, both hands cradle my head as he kisses me.
This time, the tentativeness is gone. He controls the kiss not only with his mouth and hands. It’s him. He’s strong and possessive yet gentle and thoughtful. I sink into him, my hands gripping the hem of his shirt. My grasp is so tight, I’m sure I could rip it if I wanted to. When his tongue nudges the seal of my lips, I sigh and grant him access.
His tongue is warm against mine. Each swipe spikes my urgency. I need more. Questioning my sanity for moving so quickly, I decide to not second guess this. I need this. Him.
As if he can sense my desperation, Grant slides his hands down my arms to my waist. Fingers grip me, gently pulling me toward him. In one swift move, I’m nestled in his lap, my legs straddling his lap.
I take all he gives, allowing myself to be lost in the moment. His hands are warm and controlled, slipping beneath my sweater. I glide my hands up his arms, appreciating every ripple of his muscles. Flashes of what he may look like without a shirt fuel the fire inside me and I grip the back of his head, giving myself leverage to pull myself into him.
Like a couple of teenagers, we grind and kiss with wild abandon. If I could, I would c
rawl inside him. See what lurks inside, not only in his heart but deeper. What makes this man tick? He’s managed to put me at ease, and I find myself wanting to share secrets with him. My fears and my desires. Everything I keep locked up inside. How has he done this? Sparked something deep inside me and given me hope.
Then it’s over. We jump apart, me almost falling onto the coffee table, ass on the cake I’ve only sampled.
“Mama?” Arizona’s little voice is the quiet equivalent to dropping a bucket of ice water on us both.
“I’m here, baby.” Shuffling toward her, I kneel down, pushing her wiry blonde hair from her face. “What’s the matter?”
“My tummy hurts.”
Scooping her up in my arms, she wraps her body around me like a monkey and putting my cheek to hers. It’s warm. I immediately jump into mom mode, my mind ticking off a list of things to do. Medicine, cool compress, settle her in my bed with a bucket nearby just in case.
I turn to face Grant, my sweet girl in my arms. He’s disheveled from my hands roaming his body. He looks concerned and takes a step toward us, but I shake my head.
“She’s warm. You don’t want whatever this is. I’m sorry for—”
“There is nothing to apologize for, Dakota. Is there anything I can do? Maybe run to the store for ginger ale or crackers?”
“I appreciate the offer but we’re okay. I’m always prepared for these things.”
“If you’re sure?”
Nodding, I place a kiss to Ari’s head. “I’ll be right back.”
Leaving Grant, I make my way to my bedroom and gently slip my girl onto the cool sheets. She moans and whimpers as I rise. Kissing her forehead, I touch my palm to her forehead then cheek. Definitely a fever.
“I’m going to get you some juice and medicine. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“’Kay,” she murmurs before turning to her side.
Grant is once again in the kitchen when I return to the living room. This time, he’s cleaning up instead of plating our dessert. Quiet as a mouse, I approach the entry to the space and admire him as he works. He’s efficient and precise. For a moment I wonder if that’s who he’s always been or if it’s from his years in the military.
My lips are swollen from his kisses, and my cheeks tingle from his beard. The memory of his hands on my body sends another surge of desire through me. I scold my inner hussy and remind her we are in mom mode now.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, stepping into the room.
Wiping his hands on the dishtowel, Grant smiles at me in response. Folding the towel, he glides toward me. I’m sure he’s walking but it’s smooth like he’s on ice.
“It’s no problem. How’s she doing?”
“Okay for now. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
Resting his hands on my waist, Grant pulls me to him. “If you need anything, I’m a phone call away.”
Smiling, I only nod. Never at a loss for words, I’m suddenly mute. What do I say? Thanks for the make-out session. Just the thought causes me to laugh.
“You’re laughing. That means you’re overthinking or nervous. Hey, look at me,” he implores, lifting my chin with his thumb and forefinger.
Biting back my laughter, I comply. He searches my face, probably trying to figure out what to say. Surprising me again he asks, “Did you really name your children after television characters?”
That’s all it takes for the laughter to billow out of me. Smacking his arm, I accept the small peck on my lips, my giggles muffled by the action. Grant steps away and rounds the counter out of the kitchen. I follow and when we arrive at the front door, he opens it and leans down, placing a quick peck to my lips.
“I had a wonderful time. I’ll speak with you tomorrow.”
Without another word, he leaves me standing in the doorway as he rushes down the steps. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he might actually be skipping. Can’t say I’m not doing the same thing inside.
Chapter 23
Grant
The four days since our date have been radio silent from Dakota. In her defense, not only have both her daughters been sick, but by the time they were both well, she was down for the count. Owen and I managed to get her car towed and the tire repaired. It’s a call from the shop that has me knocking on her front door now.
Slowly the door opens. A single red-rimmed eye appears in the opening. A frustrated groan greets me and makes me smile.
Holding up a bag, I say brightly, “I brought soup.”
“Grant, I’m sick and haven’t washed my hair in three days. You cannot come in here.”
“Dakota, open the door.” She doesn’t move nor does the door. “I also have tacos.”
We may have only known each other a few months, but if I know anything, it’s her love of tacos. I stand, waiting as she weighs her love of tacos versus allowing me to see her sick. Opening the door fully, I’m greeted with an exhausted looking beauty. Sure her hair is pushing the limits of creating its own dreadlocks, her T-shirt is stained, and her socks don’t match. Regardless, she’s still gorgeous.
Making my way directly to the kitchen, I pull the containers from the sack, placing them on the counter. Boxes of tacos and rice, bowls of tortilla soup, and an extra-large order of guacamole cover the space. The aroma makes my stomach growl, and Dakota lets out a moan, reminding me of what she felt like on my lap just a few days ago.
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful,” she says before falling into a coughing attack. “Sorry. If I talk too much I go into a fit. Thank you for the food.”
“You’re welcome. How are the girls feeling?”
“Fine. They’ve managed to avoid this version of whatever virus I have. It was mostly fever and exhaustion for them. I wasn’t as—” She’s cut off by another round of coughs that make me cringe.
“Go settle on the couch. I’ll be right there.”
Shuffling from the room, she does as I ask without a fight. That’s the confirmation I needed that she’s feeling worse than she’s let on. I move about the kitchen, pulling plates and bowls. Looking for something to carry everything into the other room, I open a few cupboards and search before spotting a tray on the dining table under a vase of flowers.
Once I’ve plated our lunch I move to the table for the tray. I should just move the flowers out of the way and take the tray. I shouldn’t look for a card. That would be an invasion of privacy. It’s not my business.
After the way Dakota shared the story of her past with me at dinner and the time she spent on my lap after, I don’t believe she’s dating anyone else. Maybe it’s flowers from her parents again. Even as I say it, I know these flowers are not the kind you receive from family. My mom was an avid gardener, her rose bushes her pride and joy. When I was young, she would spend hours outside tending to the bushes. She taught me that each color has a meaning. Yellow for friendship, peach for gratitude, and of course, red for love.
A cough from the other room pulls me from my thoughts. Lifting the vase, I pull the tray from its spot and organize our lunch before joining Dakota in the living room. She’s curled up in the corner of the couch, a blanket over her legs and a pile of discarded tissues on the table. Looking at the television, I note she’s watching Pitch Perfect.
“Are you going to serenade me again?”
Rolling her eyes she points her finger at me, eyes squinting in an effort to look tough. At least she isn’t speaking and thus not killing her poor lungs by coughing. Once I set down a bowl of tortilla soup, I take my lunch and settle into the opposite end of the couch.
Taking the remote control, I push play on her movie. As I lift the spoon to my mouth, I catch Dakota’s eye. Her smile is sweet and appreciative. It’s a simple gesture but makes me feel like a king. The only sound for the next twenty minutes is of us eating and occasionally, Dakota saying the dialogue of the movie along with the characters.
With our plates and bowls back on the tray, we sit in silence, my socked feet resting
on the table and Dakota twisted on the couch, her legs curled under her with her head leaning on the back of the couch.
“You cannot be comfortable,” I comment.
“I’m fine.”
“Nope. Fine is the same as miserable.”
“Ugh, you haven’t known me long enough to say that.”
Laughing, I stand and begin cleaning up our dishes. “Honey, you’re a woman. I’m well versed in the meaning of the word ‘fine’ when it comes to your gender.”
“Whatever; you think you’re so smart.”
“I won’t deny my level of intelligence. Why don’t you pause that movie? Go run yourself a bath and I’ll clean up lunch.”
“A bath sounds lovely. You’re quite the nurse, sir.”
Standing, she stretches her body, drawing my eyes to her chest. Noticing my gaze, she giggles and, in the middle of a coughing attack, makes her way down the hall. While she bathes, I clean our dishes and wipe the counters. Eyeing the flowers again, I decide to clean up the blooms and greenery.
I’m elbows deep in the arrangement when Dakota startles me with another cough. Jumping and almost knocking the vase to the ground, I manage to catch it and spin to face her in one swoop.
“Sorry. What are you doing to my flowers?”
“Other than trying to decide if I should be jealous? I’m just cleaning it up a little.”
“Why would you be jealous?” she asks, moving toward me and lifting one of the buds to her nose.
I open my mouth to respond when she says, “I can’t even smell them. At least I can enjoy their beauty.”
“Are these from your parents too?”
“Huh?” she questions while moving to the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water.
“This is the third large bouquet of flowers you’ve had in the last few months. At least that I know of. Your parents are courting you better than I am. By my calculations it’s parents three and Grant zero.”
Dakota walks slowly toward me, a smirk on her face. I take in her new look. Gone is the disheveled version she was an hour ago. Now, she is fresh-faced and looking much more like herself. No longer wearing baggy clothing, she’s now clad in skin tight leggings and a T-shirt that reads, “Rogelio is my brogelio.” The dreads are replaced with her soft blonde waves.
Cherish Her Page 13