“I’m sor?—”
“Sorry isn’t going to change anything, Ashton.”
I nod my head, listening to the crackle of the fire as it dances in the wind. “What about your dad?”
“What about him?”
“Have you ever thought about finding him?”
She sighs, picking up a small piece of driftwood and rocking it back and forth between her fingers. “That won’t change anything either.”
“But maybe you could get some answers.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
A soft laugh pulls me from my memories.
“Sorry,” Allie says. “All I’ve had to eat tonight was a stuffed mushroom on that kitchen tour, and that was hours ago.”
When I give her a questioning look, she says, “Did you not just hear my stomach growling like a grizzly bear?”
I exhale through my nose. “No, I was too lost in thought, I guess.”
“Well, that’s good. It wasn’t sexy.” She sits up and my arm falls away from her. “Please tell me you have food in the fridge.” I notice she doesn’t ask what I was thinking about. Why would she? She’s made it very clear, ever since that night, that we don’t talk about the hard stuff.
“It’s Friday, so doubtful, but let’s go check.”
A few minutes later, Allie is rummaging through my fridge, muttering to herself, plump ass on full display for me. She’swearing a T-shirt I gave her and a pair of my boxer briefs. Her thong was no longer wearable in her opinion.
“Okay, I can work with this.” She’s holding some tomatoes, garlic, and an onion. “Olive oil?” she asks. I direct her to the spice cabinet that also has all the oils and get her everything else she needs.
She gets to work chopping and heating a pan. Allie has cooked for me a few times, but I’m mesmerized all the same. The concentration she has when she’s doing something as simple as cutting an onion is breathtaking. Every movement is precise and calculated. Every grain of salt, every stir of a pot has a purpose. And I sit there at my kitchen island watching the show.
When she’s done, she places two plates of spaghetti with homemade sauce on the kitchen table and hands me a fork.
“You didn’t have any fresh herbs,” she warns me as if the food is going to be inedible without them.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s definitely not okay, but we’ll make do.”
I swirl some pasta onto my fork, bringing it up to my lips and taking a bite. I’m not surprised. It’s fucking delicious.
Because Allie Montgomery, who doesn’t believe in love, but finally kissed me for the first time in months, can make something amazing out of nothing.
We eat in silence for a few minutes before I drop my fork on the table, stalking around to her side. She finishes chewing her bite of pasta, her neck bobbing gently as it slides down her throat. “What?”
I don’t answer her, instead taking the fork from her hand and placing it down on the table. There’s a trace of sauce on her lower lip, and I bend down to lick it off before biting the same spot. She shudders, her hips moving forward, seeking friction. “Insatiable,” I whisper in her ear.
“Hey, you’re the one who started?—”
“I meant me.” I kiss her neck, her collarbone, her nipple,peaked and ready beneath her shirt—my shirt. “I can’t fucking get enough of you.”
I slide my hands underneath her thighs, lifting her up until she wraps her legs around my waist. She leans down to take my lips as I walk us to the living room, not willing to waste time by going upstairs. I lay her down on the couch, and she pulls the underwear I gave her to the side while I lower my sweatpants. The moment I sink inside her, I feel it. That feeling of comfort.
Because somewhere between convincing myself to hate her and realizing that it was a lost cause, Allie became my safe place.
29
