Considering the timeline, our trajectory looked promising.
But there were two problems. One, I could not stop thinking about her. Remembering all the intimate moments we shared before. Remembering details I loved about her bodyand longing to see how time had changed her. Remembering the feel of her skin against mine. If I had wanted her before, now I bordered insane.
Sleeping. Focusing. Not reliving those neck kisses over and over. All were impossible tasks. I did an okay job keeping myself in check. But when her hands moved across my chest, my resolve snapped.
The woman I longed for was mywife.
Not my ex-wife. Mycurrentwife.
That reality became the fuel of my desires.
Second problem: Miranda was avoiding me. She skipped the wine and Food Network routine ever since that night. I paced like a caged lion, hoping she would come down night after night. Each day at work, I wracked my brain, trying to devise a way to spend a little time with her.
And I finally had the perfect plan. The next day was game night. Jules had had a very full week and the girls weren’t sleeping well, so she asked me to bring a dessert this time. So I picked up a gallon of strawberries from a farm stand on the way home. I should’ve been exhausted from my long day at work, but the sight of Miranda made my insides buzz with anticipation. The house was quiet because Kacey was in bed for the night. She was putting away dinner dishes when I came into the kitchen and cleared my throat. “Hey, want to help me make a dessert for game night tomorrow?”
“I doubt you need help with that.”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “But company to keep me awake would be nice though. My hours have been crazy.”
“No kidding.” A gentle frown scrunched the ridge of her nose. “Yeah, I’ll help.”
Perfect. Anything to keep her downstairs longer.
After scouring the internet for good recipes, we pulled out all the ingredients for a strawberry cake with buttercreamfrosting. A little extra for a game night, but I wanted the recipe to be complex and take a while.
She started the frosting, and I made the cake. We worked in silence for a while, making small talk here and there. Once we had the cake in the oven, I leaned against the counter. “I got an idea.”
She raised her eyebrows, scraping the sides of the bowl.
“Why don’t we play the tasting game while we wait?” It was my attempt to encourage her to let loose again. To restore the easy companionship we shared prior to our almost kiss.
She scoffed. “Heck no. I don’t trust you.”
“What? Why not?” I pretended like I didn’t know what she was talking about.
“Because, like a monster, you put hot sauce in my mouth the last time we played.” She propped her hands on her hips. “Remember?”
Oh, I remembered. It was cruel. Miranda hated spicy stuff. She cried.
“I apologized profusely for two weeks.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to play again.”
I crossed an x over my heart. “Miranda Barkley, you have my word. Nothing spicy. I’ll be nice.”
She squinted. I knew she was plotting revenge, but I was willing to take my chances.
“You’ll be nice?”
“I promise.”
She perked up. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Oh yeah. Miranda didn’t give up that easy. She had something up her sleeve.
A smile pulled at my cheeks as I drug a table chair into the kitchen. I waved her into the seat. “You first.”
She plopped into the chair without argument.
