“What?” He grinned, and I would have bet money he was blushing underneath his hair. “I’ve learned a lot from them. That’s how I found the sex club book.”
Gods, he was everything.
“Anyway…” He dropped a scoop of batter onto the pan. “What’s on the agenda for today? Breakfast, shower, any other requests?”
“I flew out here to see you and give you some support while you work through things. We don’t need to get all crazy and do a bunch of sightseeing. You know I’m a homebody.”
With perfect knife skills, he cut up a strawberry and handed me a slice.
“I was thinking I’d show you around the house and property today, then tonight we can go into Denver for dinner. It’s supposed to snow all day tomorrow, so I figured we could bum around the house. But we do have plans for Valentine’s Day.”
“You didn’t have to do all that…” I mumbled through a mouthful of strawberry.
“Of course I did. You flew all the way out here. And if anyone deserves romance, it’s you.”
TWENTY
ALISTAIR
“Nothing is worth more than this day. You cannot relive yesterday. Tomorrow is still beyond your reach.” —Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
I still couldn’t get over the fact that Pam was here.
Last night we had a romantic dinner at the best Italian restaurant in Denver. The combination of carbs, copious amounts of wine, and the heavy snowfall meant that we’d spent most of today snuggled up in bed, eating junk food and watching old movies.
I had zero complaints.
“We should probably eat some real food,” I said and ran my finger over Pam’s shoulder. It was dotted with these adorable little freckles, likely from being out in the sun, but I thought they were one of the prettiest things about her.
She snuggled closer, burying her face in my chest hair. “But I’m so warm, and you smell so good.”
“Why don’t I give you one of my sweatshirts to wear. I know that’s like the ultimate sign of affection, and I probably won’t get it back.”
She braced herself up on her elbow and stared me down. “I mean, I did give you my favorite scarf.”
“An eye for an eye, I suppose,” I said with a grin. “Come on.”
She followed me into the walk-in closet, and I pointed to where my hoodies hung clustered together.
“Take your pick.”
“Hmm,” she said, her fingers trailing across the sleeves.
Gods, I hope she doesn’t pick my favorite…
It was like she could read my thoughts.
She stopped at my well-loved Rutherford University hoodie—the one with a half zip to accommodate my horns. Bringing the sleeve up to her nose, she inhaled deeply.
“This one.”
Of. Fucking. Course.
But if I was going to give my hoodie to anyone, it would be her.
“That one’s my favorite,” I said, and her expression dropped.
“I can pick another—”
