Her smile is rueful as her eyes dip down and she spots what we both know is my erection. It’s unmistakable, but still, I ignore it.
“If you say so.” Tally reaches for the door, but fuck, I don’t want her to go.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
She glances back at me, her shoulder lifted in a shrug. “What do you need?”
You.I don’t say that, though. “I found some old Adirondack chairs that could use some sanding.”
She lights up. “Oh, out by the wildflowers would be a great spot for them. People could sit out there during the festival, listen to the music, stare at the water.”
“That’s a good idea.”
She bites down on her lip like she’s trying to hide how happy my praise makes her. It makes my chest swell.
“Then that’s what we’ll do. Night, Walker,” she mumbles, finally pushing the door open.
I take my time getting out of the truck and watch as she walks up the steps toward the big house. I know if I don’t stay here, my boots digging into the earth, I’ll follow her inside, push her against the door, and kiss the life out of her.
So I decide to go for a walk instead. Check on the flowers.
I’m laughing at the absurdity of this situation when Tally’s sweet voice breaks through the evening air. “Hey, Walker? Will you be around for dinner tomorrow?”
Tongue in my cheek, I nod. “Yeah. I’m around.”
“Okay, good. Make sure you’re here at, say, seven?”
I tug the brim of my hat down on my head to hide my smile. “Okay.”
The moment I turn toward the cottages, my lips curl completely and I feel an immense excitement that I know is nowhere close to innocent. I walk for what feels like hours through the fields, trying to remind myself why I can’t go near her. Why I need to stay outside, far away from the gorgeous woman who lies only a room away from me. But when I finally go inside, I’m drawn up the steps by a sound I’ll never forget.
“Yes,” Tally’s voice hums from inside her room. It’s quiet and breathy, and I know why.
I should go inside my bedroom and lock the door. I should take a cold shower and forget what she’s doing.
But I don’t. Instead, I settle my head against her door and listen to her every whimper.
My cock grows impossibly hard, beating against my zipper, and I picture her every movement. How she’s probably got her legs spread wide on the bed, her pussy throbbing, her fingers glistening as she teases herself because she doesn’t have what she really needs to get her there:me.
I imagine how she’d react if I opened this door. She’d try to stop what’s she doing, but I’d tell her to keep her fingers right the fuck there. I’d talk her through it and watch as she teased her clit and fucked herself with her fingers. I’d drop a knee to the bed, inhale her sweet scent, and swallow her moans as she came again and again.
I know I should walk away. I know I can’t have her. And yet that doesn’t stop me from keeping my ear to the door until I hear her cry out my goddamn name.
CHAPTER 23
Tally
Other than the wildflower meadows, there’s nowhere I love more than the inside of a kitchen. Whether it’s the hustle and bustle of a restaurant or the quiet solitude I find in my own home, when I’ve got a whisk in my hand and flour on my face, I’m content.
Probably because it’s the only place in the world where I truly fit and am driven by pure intuition. The moment my fingers sink into a pound of dough, kneading it with just the right pressure, I know what to do.
And when I don’t, I play. I test out every ingredient until I find the right mixture. Pinch the right amount of salt or spice without second-guessing myself.
There isn’t much else in life that I understand, but here, in the kitchen, I’m sure of myself. It’s the same way I feel when I’m with Walker. It seems like no matter how many times I mess things up, he’s still standing there, trying to hide a smile behind the brim of his hat. Understanding me in a way I don’t think anyone else has ever really tried to.
For so long I’ve been gone from this town, from my home. I’ve run from kitchen to kitchen and felt like an imposter in each because, unlike the pastry chefs I worked with, I didn’t have the proper schooling. I was the person they hired to make it through the busy season, never really belonging. Just an extra pair of hands.
Maybe after I go to culinary school—when I finally have the proper education and training—I’ll be worthy of more. I’ll be able to stop and put down roots somewhere.
