by Fiona West
“Not safe.” She smirked. “I know, I heard you the first time you told me.” She was about to reveal her earlier revelation about his draconian nature, but she realized that his fantasy knowledge was so poor, he’d never be able to accept it for the huge compliment that it was. I mean, he’s never even read Lord of the Rings. It was tragic, really. Never laugh at live dragons . . . The immortal words of Bilbo Baggins should be heeded.
Ainsley slid him a plate with a stack of golden-brown pancakes on it, then placed silverware, the butter, and the syrup next to it. Kyle carefully cut into them, sniffing them.
“It’s a mix?”
“Duh,” she said. “Who makes pancakes from scratch?”
“I do,” he said, putting the first bite in his mouth. “Mmm. And mine are better, no offense.”
“Good, then you can cook next time.” She passed him the bacon.
“Good. I will.” He glanced up at her from his plate shyly. “I’d like to cook for you.”
Be still, my beating heart. He’d been here countless times. Sat right in that seat, but he’d never said anything like that before. She did not mind it. Not one bit. Ainsley started into her own dinner.
“I’m surprised you eat breakfast for dinner at all,” she said, her mouth full.
“I admit that it’s not my first preference,” he said, still eating. “But I was trying to be nice.”
“So you do know how to compromise. Interesting.”
“Ha, ha,” he deadpanned, and Ainsley laughed. Without thinking, she licked the butter and syrup off her knife.
Kyle looked aghast. “Did you just lick a knife?”
Ainsley shrugged. “Yes?”
He set down his knife and fork carefully on his plate. “Come here.”
Warily, Ainsley made her way around the eat bar to his side of it, and he turned to tug her close to him, between his open knees.
“You should not be allowed to have sharp things,” he whispered.
She snorted. “That’s your opinion.”
“Do you need someone to keep your mouth busy, is that it?” That made her stomach drop and her lips curve into a smile.
“Why?” she asked, sliding her arms over his shoulders. “Are you suggesting an activity?”
“Oh yeah.” Kyle brought their foreheads together and kissed her.
She kissed him back harder, nipping at his lower lip . . . It was so pouty and sweet, she adored it. And, she thought as his kisses turned hungry, he even had a soft underbelly like most dragons. She’d seen his plenty of times: his way with Cooper, for one. As much as he complained about playing board games and having to wait for him after school, she knew he loved the kid. Maybe she was part of his weakness, too. Dragons didn’t like weakness, and given his exhibition with her car door, he certainly didn’t lack for physical strength. There was only one more test to do: look into his eyes. Dragon-spell. It was well known that dragons had hypnotic powers of suggestion.
Ainsley pulled back just enough to see into his eyes without making him look like a cyclops. His brown eyes poured into hers . . . She really couldn’t liken them to anything. They were dark enough to be chocolate, but that just didn’t feel right. It was more like they belonged to some kind of bear . . . a grizzly? She didn’t know. But all food metaphors fell short. They captured her.
“Whatcha doing?” He’d lost his usual diction, his words slurring a bit like he was drunk. Drunk on her. Lord, she wanted that.
“Just checking.”
He lifted an eyebrow and leaned forward to take her lips in another long kiss. “Checking what?”
“Your hypnotic powers.”
He stroked her hips with his thumbs, then gave her a little squeeze as he chuckled quietly.
“Well, I don’t have them that I’ve ever noticed. How would I have gained these powers?”
“Maybe you’re like Medusa or something . . .”
“I don’t have snakes for hair or anything . . . Also, I don’t think Medusa hypnotized people so much as turned them to stone and ruined them completely.”
“Okay, know-it-all.”
“Me?” he asked, all innocence.
“Yes, you have an answer for absolutely everything. Please quit correcting people all the time. It’s annoying.”
“About Medusa?”
“About everything.”
“Well, I think you’ve got them, the snake hair things . . .” He was kissing down her neck, his hands bracketing her ribs. “I feel ruined when I’m with you.”
Ainsley smiled, but he must not have been able to tell, because he paused, tensing.
“Like, in a good way.”
“I know. It’s okay.” It’s okay, dragon. Your treasure knows you mean well. She kissed the end of his nose. “You want to watch part of Lord of the Rings with me?”
Kyle crinkled his nose in distaste. “No, thank you.”
“Really? Why not?”
“That doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever.”
“But you like fantasy video games!”
“I don’t do classics in any genre. They don’t hold my attention. Video games have a medium that I find visually stimulating. So no. No Lord of the Rings.”
She sighed with a smile. “So much for compromise . . .”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AFTER THE PANCAKE DAY, Kyle started coming over after he dropped off Cooper. She cooked the first two nights, but after she apparently put too much garlic in the fried rice, he showed up the next night with a bag of groceries in each hand and made himself comfortable in her kitchen. Tonight he’d roasted a whole chicken. She was already making plans for the leftovers. She was going to make an epic sandwich tomorrow.
Ainsley watched Kyle over the top of her book. After dinner, he’d washed her dishes and pulled a book out of his bag. He started reading, eyes scanning the page quickly. A little wrinkle would appear between his eyebrows, he’d stare off into the distance, then he’d go back to reading again. He did that for thirty minutes solid without saying a word to her. She couldn’t take it anymore.
“Kyle.”
He kept reading.
“Kyle, honey.”
His head lifted, but he didn’t look up. “Mmm?”
“Are you just going to read until you have to go?”
He gave her his gaze then, frowning. “Did you not want me to?”
“I . . . I don’t know?”
“You seem unhappy.”
“More just . . . confused?” She scootched closer to him. “Why did you come over if you’re just going to ignore me?”
“We talked during dinner and during its preparation. And I’m not ignoring you.”
Now she was frowning. “You’re not?”
“No! And I came over because I like being with you. I like having you around while I read.”
“Don’t you want to, I don’t know, talk or something?” Or something was code, but she wasn’t sure if he’d get it. She leaned into his body and the phrase at the same time, putting a light hand on the leg he had braced against the couch cushions.
“Like watch a show? We can do that if you want to.”
Sexy code was apparently difficult for dragons. She sighed. “This makes you happy?”
“Oh, yes. Very. As an educator, I would think you’d be familiar with parallel play.”
Ainsley bit her lip until the urge to snicker passed. “I’d say I’m more familiar with it than with zombie apocalypse preparations, but go on—how does this relate?”
“I can’t handle a lot of face-to-face all the time, that’s all. I get . . . peopled out. I’d rather be like this. You know, comfortable.”
Comfortable? Not talking, reading in silence? She’d never spent a more uncomfortable evening with someone she was dating. Wait, were they dating?
“You’re not saying anything,” he pointed out.
“I’m just thinking,” she said, caressing his leg absentmindedly. “I just don’t . . . I don’t get it.”
“That’s o
kay,” he said, putting down his book. “It must be hard being neurotypical. I’ll teach you.” Kyle pulled her into his arms, tipping them back to hold her on the couch. “You know, secretly, I have always admired this shirt, but now that I’ve touched it and I know how scratchy it is, I don’t know how you can wear this.”
She chuckled into his cotton-clad shoulder: Cotton. Always cotton. She’d never seen him in anything else, come to think of it, when he wasn’t at work. “I think it’s polyester,” she said, twisting and craning her neck to see the label.
“Ugh. That explains it.”
Ainsley laughed. “What’s wrong with polyester?”
“Besides feeling like fire? Itchy, terrible, caustic synthetics? Besides all that, you mean?”
“Naturally, I thought those things were a given,” she said, tickling his ribs, and he jerked away from her.
“Hey!”
“Hey what?”
“Don’t tickle me. That’s not cool.” To her mild surprise, he pulled her closer, laying her over his body. “You’ll get used to it. Come on.” With a little shifting and scootching, he made room for her on the couch. She lay with her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder. Kyle handed her back her book. “Now read.” He put his arm around her, letting his hand rest on her belly, holding his e-reader with his other hand. Ainsley opened the book again and tried to figure out where she was . . . Five pages later, she was still distracted. But he wasn’t wrong; she was getting used to it. Twenty pages in, she’d sunk into his warm embrace, her breathing slow and deep, her mind completely absorbed by the fantasy world she’d entered in the book, even as her body rested with Kyle. She’d never known reading could be a contact sport. When he stood up to leave, she was genuinely sad.
Ainsley’s phone buzzed with a text, and she groaned.
“It’s my mom. My dad must have told her about the . . . trailer thing.”
Kyle grinned, and he was so good-looking, she wanted to take a picture of him, just like that and frame it. Put it on her mantel. Or even better, on her nightstand.
“She wants us to come over for dinner.”
“Okay.” He was putting on his jacket now, zipping it up to his neck. She’d really expected more resistance, and it threw her off for a moment. She really could not read him at all sometimes.
“Um, okay. How’s Friday night?”
“Don’t you have the town meeting Friday night?”
“Oh. Yes. Um, Saturday night, then. Are you coming to the build?”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” He dropped another sweet kiss on her lips. “Especially the cleanup.” He kissed her again, like he couldn’t help himself.
Ainsley grinned. “Me too. But let’s try not to get locked in this time . . .”
“Best date I ever had,” he returned as he shut the front door behind him.
“MY RELATIVES CAME OVER on the second voyage of the Mayflower,” Nancy said, smiling broadly. “The Hanover line.” It was Saturday night, and her mother was serving green beans at the formal dining room table, which was covered with the good white lace tablecloth. Ainsley really felt like her parents were taking this a little too seriously; it was so new. She’d expected pizza and beer, not a whole turkey, complete with oyster stuffing.
“That’s fascinating.” Kyle smiled, nodding, but Ainsley noticed his mouth twitching strangely. When the conversation shifted away from them, he pulled out his phone under the table. He typed something into it, smirked, and put the phone away.
“What’s so funny?”
His smile fell immediately. “Nothing.”
“No, really. What was it?”
“Nothing, Ains. Really.”
She scowled. “Kyle . . .”
“Mrs. Buchanan, this turkey is so good,” he said, pointedly ignoring her unhappiness. “I’d love to get the recipe.” Her mother beamed.
“I hear you’re quite the chef as well,” Nancy said, and Ainsley knew her chance to find out what he’d been doing had gone . . . but it still nagged at her throughout dinner.
Her father was strangely quiet, sitting back with his arms crossed, answering questions with grunts and shrugs. “Stop it,” she mouthed, and he smirked back at her. Dessert was appropriately disappointing: fruit salad. Ironically, her father didn’t even partake.
As soon as they’d said their good nights and the car doors slammed, she turned to him.
“Okay. Now tell me.”
Kyle looked confused as he started the car. “Your parents? They’re great. I still get the feeling your dad’s not my number-one fan, but really, anyone who’s touching his daughter wouldn’t be high on the list, right?”
Ainsley waved her hands spastically to stop his chatter; it was nice that he was being more open with his thoughts, but this was not what she wanted to talk about, and she only had a few minutes before he went to work. “Not my parents. What did you look up under the table?”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.”
He turned onto Fourth. “Like I said, it was nothing.”
“Kyle!”
He smirked, then sobered. “You told me to stop being such a know-it-all.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Kyle said nothing.
“Kyle Howard Durand!”
He shot her a confused look. “That’s not my middle name.”
“You’re right—because your middle name is IMPOSSIBLE.”
“Actually, it’s Edward. But I wish it was impossible. I’d like that. I’d intimidate people even more.”
Ainsley let her head fall forward, her chin resting on her chest, and sighed deeply. “Fine, don’t tell me.” They drove in silence until they reached her apartment. “Bye.” She started to get out when she felt his hand on her thigh.
“I don’t want you leaving mad at me. I’m not going to see you until Monday.”
“Then tell me what you were laughing about!” she said, flapping her hands frantically. “When I told you to stop being a know-it-all, I meant with everyone else, not with me! I’m . . . I’m used to it!”
His eyes dropped to the gear shift, and she could tell he was considering this. “There was no second voyage of the Mayflower.”
“What? Yes, there was. My relatives were on it.”
He shrugged. “The internet seemed pretty sure of itself,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I can send you a link . . .”
“Kyle, my grandmother has been telling that story for years.”
“Well, then it sounds like she’s been mistaken for years. I wonder how your relatives actually came to America?”
She stared at him for a moment, then opened the car door and got out.
“Ains, wait.” His quick footfalls on the stairs told her that he was trying to catch up; she didn’t slow down. She had the door open by the time he reached her. “Wait a minute,” he said, catching her around the waist. “Come on, all families have a mythology.”
“What does that mean, Kyle?” She turned to glare at him over her shoulder.
Jaw ticking, he nudged her into the apartment and shut the door behind them, pressing his palms to the door, caging her between his arms. “It means my uncle Buster tells everyone he’s a Mensa candidate. My dad claims our grandpa Tank once delivered a baby on a moving train. My mom thinks I loved sweet pickles as a kid, and I definitely did not, since they are disgusting. Stories change over time, whether fish are involved or not. History is as fluid as the future. It’s not a big deal.”
Ainsley pressed herself flat against the door, trying to avoid his steady gaze. “It’s embarrassing. Why would she say that if it wasn’t true?”
“Because that’s what her mother told her, and someone made it up at some point. The details got forgotten or conveniently ignored. I just thought her version was funny. I wasn’t laughing at them, really,” he said, snaking a hand into her hair, shuffling closer to her. “Not any more than I was laughing at human nature.”
She lo
oked up at him; he seemed so earnest, and she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Being laughed at still stung after all these years . . . She pushed down memories of the Incident. High school was a long time ago. She should be over it by now . . . She wanted to focus on the present, on the hot guy in front of her, not the one who’d embarrassed her.
“Mythology?” she asked, bringing her hands to his belt loops to tug him closer, flush against her.
He nodded somberly. “Mythology. Your family mythology is adorable, just like you.”
“I am pretty adorable.”
“So adorable.” His move toward her lips was slow, an implicit ask.
She lifted her chin. “I thought you had to get home.”
Kyle’s face fell. “I should,” he said. “You’re right. I’ve got vacuuming to do and—”
Ainsley pressed a finger to his lips. “Hon, I was kidding. It was sexy banter. You know. I’m playing with you. Teasing you.”
“Sexy banter,” he repeated softly, removing her hand to kiss her lips. “I like sexy banter.”
“I know you do,” she whispered back, leading him over to the couch. “And now I’m going to show you what most people think of when they use the term parallel play . . .”
CHAPTER TWENTY
ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH, Ainsley thought as she licked her ice cream cone. He’d driven her all the way into town to 22 Below, one of those specialty ice cream places in Salem. It was a good sign . . . Maybe he thought he needed to butter her up. He didn’t. She’d have been fine with Dairy Queen; heck, she’d have been fine with skipping dessert and going straight back to her place. He’d taken her out three times: it was time. True, one of those dates was dinner at her parents’, and once was being locked in a tool trailer together . . . Did that count? Was that not three? She was so ready for this, she’d been distracted all day at work. Their hot make-out session on Saturday night had given her a taste of how good this was going to be . . . It had been a while. She may or may not have shaved, exfoliated, and moisturized to excess in anticipation of where the night would go.
“Good?” Kyle licked a drip off the top of his waffle cone, and she realized she was staring at his tongue.