by Tara Mills
“Jackson,” she whispered urgently. “Take another bite, and then follow it with a sip of wine. You’re going to love how the buttery flavors work together.”
Intrigued, Jackson took her advice. Lowering his glass, he savored the wine, his eyes closed, with a deep slow breath. Then he broke into a smile and looked at her.
“Wow. That’s good.”
She nodded, her eyes speaking words she couldn’t begin to express.
Eventually their plates were cleared away, and Sabrina was dabbing at her mouth when Jackson said, “One course left.”
“Please, no, tell me you’re kidding.” She covered her stomach protectively. “I can’t eat another bite.”
“But it’s dessert.”
“Seriously, I can’t eat it. Can we just leave it until later?”
“They did this especially for you. It was a first-of-its-kind request.”
“Honey,” she said with a helpless laugh. “I appreciate it. I really do. Maybe I could just look at it right now. Will that work?”
“I can live with that.” He looked up and nodded at the kitchen.
The man came out with a covered plate and held it in front of Sabrina. He lifted the decorative lid with a flourish.
Sabrina burst out laughing so hard her eyes began to tear all over again. “Long johns? You’re crazy, you know that?”
“They’re your favorite, right?”
“Yes.” She threw her arms around Jackson as soon as the man went back to the kitchen with the platter. “So where did you come from, anyway?” she asked, brushing her cheek against his.
“You found me. With your car, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That’s right, I did,” she said happily. “And I’m kind of glad. You’re not the jerk I thought you were.”
He smiled. “And you’re not quite the disaster I thought you were.”
“Not quite.”
“I don’t mind being wrong.”
“Me either.”
They adjourned to the living room while the caterers cleaned the kitchen and packed away their equipment. When they were ready to leave, Jackson kissed Sabrina on the forehead and whispered, “Be right back.” He walked the couple to the door.
Sabrina glanced back and smiled when she saw Jackson pressing a large tip on the couple. His words of praise carried back to her, as did their happy laughter and congratulations.
He closed the door softly behind them and locked it before walking back to pick up his glass from the coffee table. “Well, I’d hire them again.”
“In a second.”
“You know, they made those two long johns themselves. I can just imagine how good they’ll taste.”
“Now you tell me.”
“Don’t panic. They’re in the kitchen. We’ll enjoy them when we’re ready.”
Sabrina laughed. “That’s turning into a kind of motto for us, isn’t it?”
He smiled. “If you say so.”
“You know it is.”
“Feel like soaking that leg of yours?”
“Is that really what you have in mind?” she asked skeptically.
“Well, of course we’ll move the candles to around the tub, and there’s going to be alcohol involved.”
“I’ll bet that’s not all.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet.”
He offered his hand and she smiled as she came to her feet, promptly nailing him under the chin with the top of her head.
There was a pregnant pause while they stared at each other in surprise.
Then Sabrina cried, “Kitchen!” and dragged Jackson off the light carpet at a run. “Try not to bleed on your shirt. Just hang your head over the sink while I get some ice.”
She whipped open the freezer and grabbed a bag of frozen raspberries, thrusting them on him as he leaned over the sink dripping blood.
“It’s your tongue, isn’t it?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Talk about bad timing. She filled a plastic baggie with ice and wrapped the whole thing in a towel. “Here, let me see.”
Jackson turned, leaning down so she could take a look, but he had to cup his chin to catch the sudden overflow. Sabrina pressed the towel against his face and shuddered.
“I’ll get the elevator.” She gave him a sorrowful look. “You just hang tight, okay?”
He nodded. “The resth of your presthent hash to waith now,” he apologized.
“I guess I deserve that.” She turned back. “I really love you.”
He nodded back and waved at Sabrina to hurry. Jackson chuckled softly as he soaked the towel, shaking his head at the turn of events and their aborted lovemaking.
His world made sense again.
A word from the author…
Life is hard. Love makes it bearable.
I’m happily married to a doting husband, the mother of three amazing sons, and the daily minder of one naughty dog with attitude.
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.