The kiss stops just as fast as it began.
“See you around,” he rasps while his eyes are still focused on my lips.
I nod and climb out of his car, feeling my legs shake. Jericho has this ability of turning me into jelly with just a quick touch of his body to mine.
A shiver runs down my back when I imagine the touch of the rest of his body. It will probably be earth-shattering.
I take a few deep breaths before walking up my front steps. The light in the kitchen is on which means Grandma’s laser eyes will be meeting me. I was hoping she’d spend a little more time in the diner, giving me the opportunity to get my shit together.
She’s there in the kitchen, humming and starting the coffee machine. A bag of whole, highly caffeinated beans is on the table.
“Grandma!” I cry out, making her nearly jump. I’m ready to start this years-long battle when she attacks me first.
“You got kissed.” She points the measuring spoon at me.
“Grandma!” I cry out again, embarrassed for some reason. I’m twenty-five years old, for fuck’s sake. Why am I ashamed of her mentioning a simple kiss? Even though it was anything but simple.
She doesn’t press, just quickly pours another spoonful of beans inside the machine and presses the button. I could wrestle her for access to the machine, but it would be ridiculous.
I’m looking between her and the machine and find herwatching me with a silently raised brow as if she’s asking me if I want to go down that road with her. Sighing loudly in defeat, I head upstairs to get changed for the closing shift at the diner. I put on my amethyst necklace and stare at myself in the mirror as I press my fingers to my lips like they might still hold the shape of him.
I don’t know what this is. But I want more of it. This game of push and pull. I didn’t know I’d like it so much. It’s like I’m savoring the anticipation of something big. Something wonderful. And I have to wait to get it.
The moon is out as I pull back into the driveway, and for once the rooster isn’t screeching from his usual post.
I frown and glance around, missing the feathery little shit for some inexplicable reason.
Then I hear something—a pecking sound behind our porch. I wonder if the disloyal bastard is back, so I carefully tiptoe around the corner.
And come to a sudden halt.
Grandma’s crouched down in the grass, shaking a bag of cracked corn while mumbling something under her breath like she’s summoning spirits. The rooster is standing two feet from her, proud and impatient, like this has been their deal all along. He’s not running away from her, and what’s more important—she’s not chasing him.
“Grandma,” I say slowly.
She jumps, straightens, and spins around like she just got caught buying contraband.
“Oh,” she giggles. “You startled me.”
“I bet.”
She laughs. “You’re very quiet.”
“And you are very sneaky.” I pointedly look at the rooster who’s standing in the same spot, watching ourinteraction with his impudent beady eyes. “Are you feeding him?”
She glances at the bag, then at the rooster, who is now pecking at her slipper.
“Define feeding, my dear.”
I cross my arms and nearly growl, “Grandma.”
“What?”
“Have you been feeding him this whole time?” My tone is accusatory, and rightfully so.
“Me? Feeding Reginald?” She huffs. “No-o-o.”
“Reginald?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You named the rooster Reginald?”
