Am I falling for Jake?
The single dad who clearly loves his daughter with his entire being. He’s kind, caring, and more than anything, I want to see him naked.
Maybe it’s just lust. Maybe if he leans in a little more, I could steal a kiss.
Maybe if I had more time in town I could see where this goes.
Always another maybe, another daydream.
I sip on my hot cocoa as Jake asks me about my job.
Chapter 4
Jake
If Mallory leans an inch closer,I don’t think I could resist kissing her lips. Tonight, when she walked into the bakery, I wanted to pull her in for a hug but hesitated. We’ve been chatting about her career and my job over our second round of hot chocolates. I can tell by the sadness in her voice that she loved her recent role as a designer. Her blue eyes sparkle when she describes her ideas for sketching gowns. I know nothing about clothing but I could listen to her talk for hours.
I find myself leaning in, elbows propped on the table, as she tells me about her favorite fabric. then she waves me off, like she’s done.
“Sorry I’m rambling,” she muses before I place my hand over hers, and lightly run my thumb over her palm.
“It’s interesting. And probably how I would feel if I told you about biking around town.” I smile as her cheeks start to redden. Not quite as cherry red as her lips but close.
I wonder for the millionth time tonight how her lips would taste, how her body with all its soft curves would feel pressed against mine. And, for the millionth time, I wish I had worn other jeans. My dick is not fully awake but the rotating thoughtsof kissing Mallory and imagining her naked are testing my limits.
“Anyways,” she murmurs. “Favorite drink?” I continue to hold her hand and she doesn’t shoo me away.
“Chai latte. You?”
“I love that drink. Okay, favorite form of potato?”
I laugh, “French fries. But the thin ones you find at diners and stuff. None of those wedges.”
“I’m partial to mashed potatoes with garlic and butter. Okay, you go. Ask me some random questions.”
“Did you attend the speed dating session?”
“No, they have that? I was signed up for ice carving and I think,” she closes her eyes for a moment, “oh, I signed up for a dance class of some kind. I’m on the clumsy side and not great at dancing, but fingers crossed that the teacher is helpful.”
“I have two left feet, so I hope you get a good partner. What’s your favorite thing about Québec, Canada?”
“That is way more difficult than asking your favorite potato dish. Let’s go with getting lost on the streets of Old Québec. I live in Québec City but there’s this gorgeous hotel, it’s called the Fairmont Le Château Frontenac,” the French accent rolls off her tongue. “Anyways, it’s all winding cobblestone streets, flowers hanging in the front of shops, friendly people, and delicious food.”
“Wow, outside of the cobblestone streets that sounds like Valentine in the summer but a tad more picturesque. I’ll have to add it to my travel list.”
“What else is on your list?” She scoots closer so our thighs are pressed against each other. I can hear Mallory clearly, but I find myself craving more touch, so I don’t move apart. She smells like maple syrup and oranges. Sweet and enticing.
I didn’t realize that a first date could feel this natural.
“I’d love to see Spain, maybe take a pasta making class in Italy, then backpack through a bit of Australia. Maybe England or Germany.” I chuckle, “I guess I want to go all over. But…” I look around and spy Charlotte playing with other kids by another table.
“But you’re waiting for Charlotte to get older?” she nods like I’ve already answered her question. “That’s a good plan, I can’t imagine flying that long of a flight with a small child. Not an easy feat.”
She continues to surprise me. Not “are you waiting until Charlotte is old enough you don’t have to take her?” or “are you waiting so you can avoid little kid tourist places?”
Mallory keeps including Charlotte as I would.
“Good points,” I note before Charlotte comes bounding over. I let go of Mallory’s hand and I think I see a flash of disappointment in her eyes when we’re no longer touching.
