And I know he did it because he wanted to.
Because I mean something to him.
Breathless and feeling every emotion in the book, I know I need a distraction. “Are we carving the pumpkins we get?”
He side-eyes me. “Duh.”
“Tonight?” I ask, eager and not the least bit ashamed of it. “Or do you have workouts?”
Dawson glances over at me, smiling ear to ear, his eyes just for me. “I worked out this morning so I could be all yours all day.”
All mine.
Shit. I really like the sound of that.
But…does he mean forever?
Do I want forever?
Damn it all to hell.
Why didn’t I keep my walls up?
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
Ambrosia
“So out of all the Southern food, the amazing and talented Valeria, your mother, made your dad ambrosia salad.”
I chortle as I flick pumpkin guts off my fingers. “Every single night he came over.”
Dawson’s laughter is loud as he uses a razor to work on his design. We aren’t showing each other what we’re making, but we have to do something that reminds us of the other person. Of course, because I’m basic and I wanted something easy, I did a football and a puck.
Listen, I may have lied when I said I was a kick-ass at this. I need something simple, and by the looks of all the implements Dawson is using, I may be screwed either way. The guy pulled out a tool bag from his trunk when we got here.
A tool bag.
With a drill.
For, like, wood.
He’s going to gloat for weeks.
And I’ll act like I hate it.
But I’ll just stare at his dimples.
“Like, for real, a can of fruit salad and whipped cream?”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “Sir, my mother added pecans like a fucking lady, okay? She even chopped them herself instead of buying them prechopped.”
“Well, damn, and I was being judgy.”
“So damn judgy,” I say with a smirk.
He snorts at that, shaking his head. “I can’t. That’s wild. So then they decided to name you Ambrosia?”
