Today, she’s got on another pair of jeans that hug her thighs just right. From this angle, I can appreciate her other curves for a few seconds before I catch myself in the act. Thankfully, I’m quick enough to turn my gaze away just as she spins around on her heel, a plate in hand.
Already imagining what she’ll have for me this time around, a light laugh leaves her at my furrowed brows once I get a good look at what is waiting for me. I’ve scrambled, panfried, and boiled my eggs countless times before. Sometimes poached them when I wanted to mix things up. I thought I explored most of the options. Apparently not.
“Quiche.” Setting it down in front of me, she plants a fork next to my cup. “It’s a little hot, so be careful.”
Lifting my gaze from the food to her, I realize how little space is between us. Breathing in, my lungs fill with that tangerine smell once more, and I can already feel the swell against my thigh. At this point, it feels more like a trigger than anything else.
Should I ask her to buy something else, or will my body adjust to whatever she picks and react the same way?
“Thanks.” My appreciation comes out rough, to the point that I barely recognize my voice. “Though you don’t have to keep doing this.”
Yesterday, she made me some kind of jiggly dessert. While hers didn’t look its best, she made sure to give me the perfect one. Called inflan. Never had anything like it.
I’m willing to bet her goal is to make me tired of eating them. Fortunately for her, it’s working.
I already took her advice and shoved a sign down for anyone traveling, and even got a few new faces at first. Then she caught wind and suggested we make a post on the town’s social media. Having no clue what was going on, I let her handle it.
Now we’re lucky to keep a full carton stocked in the fridge. She’s owed some appreciation, and I’ll give it to her. Just… once I get a handle over myself first.
She bites that plump bottom lip at my words, and pauses long enough to make my fingers curl. Wanting to reach up and touch her should be off the table, too. “I don’t mind. Breakfast is really important to start the day,Cyrus.”
She keeps doing that, purring my name like she purposely wants to torture the hell out of me. She knows it’s working. It’s why she keeps flashing those smiles at me, making them feel personal andmine.
Grunting at the thought, I tear my eyes away and eat. The sooner the food is gone, the sooner I can start my day and pretend everything is normal. By now, such a thing is routine.
For a few seconds, she doesn’t leave my side. She watches, waiting for a reaction. For a compliment, probably. Today, she’s lingering even closer than usual. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off of her. Ordering myself not to look her way, not to notice what kind of shirt she’s wearing, something with buttons, by the feeling of something plastic scraping my arm, I sigh after my fourth bite.
“It’s good.” Against my better judgment, I look up at her and watch as the delight drifts over her eyes. “Hurry and eat some.”
She then does something that catches me off guard. She squeezes my shoulder. It’s probably friendly,hasto be with this woman. There’s no way in hell she’d mean it as anything else. Not to a man twice her age. Yet, her touch burns all the way until she drags her fingers away to turn and go fetch her own helping.
With her back turned, I’m forced to reach beneath the table and adjust myself before she can notice. My bites slow down. It’s going to be a minute until I can stand up without drawing anyattention. May as well enjoy the meal and take advantage when she asks if I want seconds.
* * *
Millie doesn’t complain about any of the farm work. Collecting eggs is the novice stuff, but when I get her to clean out the barn, I expect a string of complaints to come streaming out. After all, this job is a dirty one. Doesn’t smell too nice, either.
Instead of calling it quits at the piles she’s going to have to attend, she’s plucking at the boots I dug out. They’re a little big on her, but they’ll get the job done.
“Dad said you lived alone.” Her foot wiggles as she tests it out. “You just keep boots half your size around?”
Good to know Jerry knows my lack of a love life has remained the same despite never bringing it up. “They belong to my sister. She didn’t need them anymore, and I’m a hoarder.” Keeping it simple, I fetch her a pitchfork and hand it over, with a pair of gloves. “Wear those. Don’t need your hands getting blisters.”
“Yes, sir.” She accepts both and doesn’t notice the way I flinch as she tugs them on next. “You sure are bossy, you know that?”
Turning away, I make eye contact with the few cows lingering by the fans running. “Just making sure no one gets hurt.”
That’s the truth. What I don’t understand is why I’m feeling something in the pit of my stomach at her words. It’s the same hunger as before, but much quicker. Far more intense and sudden.
Thankfully, I don’t have much time to think about it too deeply. Not when she’s already starting to fill the wheelbarrow I’ve got readied.
“Where does all this stuff go, anyway?” she asks after a few minutes. Probably doesn’t like the silence. I can’t blame her, not while I’m left alone with my thoughts.
“Gets sold to the nearby farmers.” Nudging one of the cows out of their stall so I can work on it, I get an aggravatedmooin return before continuing. “Used to have a farm when everyone lived here, but now that it’s just me, I take care of the animals, and that’s about it.”
I’m talking too much. She didn’t ask about all the extra bits.
“Everyone?” Lifting a brow, she pauses long enough to swipe away the beads of sweat clinging to her temple. The simple motion pulls the thin fabric of her t-shirt taut across her chest, and I have to force my gaze to stay fixed on her face. “I thought the place was a little big for just a guy and his dog. You’ve got family, I assume?”
