“Then what would you do?” she asks.
This doesn’t feel real. Maybe I’m still asleep in my bed, having a fevered fantasy about her.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to wake myself up, but it doesn’t work. I’m still here, in the kitchen, with the woman of my dreams asking what I want to do to her.
Taking a deep breath, I whisper, “I would run my hands up that shirt and finally feel your warm skin on mine. Find out if you’re wearing a bra, or if my fingers will get to slide over your nipples.”
She goes perfectly still, and regret fills my chest. That was too far. I shouldn’t have said it.
With our gazes locked, she presses her teeth into her bottom lip so hard that it turns white. Then she releases it and whispers, “No bra.”
My legs go weak, and a low groan seeps from my throat. Fuck whatever this fucking sickness is. I’m straining against the front of my sweatpants, and I want to pull her into the pantry and follow through with everything I said.
Voices rise from the living room, the sounds of the girls arguing over their game flooding the space between us with reality.
“I’ll go.” Millie pulls her hands back and flees from the room like it’s on fire.
Well, it fuckingis.
I listen to their muffled conversation while I dish the soup into two bowls. Taking a deep breath, I dig my fists into the counter, hoping the situation in my sweatpants will deflate.
When Millie returns to her barstool, her cheeks and eyes are back to their normal color, like she’s contained everything that just happened in this kitchen.
I’m having a harder time controlling that beast, but I force myself to ignore its rattling cage and serve her a bowl of soup and a plate of toast.
“This is delicious,” I say as the first spoonful of chicken, rice, and vegetables hits my tongue.
She dips a chunk of toast into the broth. “My dad taught me how to make this. Most of my cooking skills come from my mom, but this one is my dad. He’s not as good at the medicine and fretting part of having sick kids, so he always made the comfort soup.” She picks up a spoonful and brings it up between our faces. “I don’t really like celery, so he always cuts the pieces so tiny they’re almost invisible.”
“When I was sick as a kid, Clara would heat up Campbell’s for me. I loved the hell out of that soup, but I think it was mostly because she made it for me.”
“What was she like?” Millie asks.
The weight that always presses on my chest when I think about my sister shifts a little. “She was...” My voice comes out hoarse, so I clear my throat to reset. “She was the kindest person I’d ever met. She had this way of making everyone around her comfortable, even in the most awkward situations. And she was so selfless. Took care of me better than our own parents.”
Millie nods. “Do the girls have some of her personality?”
I rock my head from side to side, thinking. “Both girls are a little like her. She was outgoing like Eloise and could talk to anyone she met, and she was compassionate and self-aware like Avery. And they both laugh exactly like her. Sometimes it haunts me when I hear it.” That grief-filled weight feels a bit lighter with every word, like discussing Clara with Millie is releasing some of the heavy load that has been burdening me.
Millie leans her cheek on my shoulder and wraps her hand around my arm. “She sounds wonderful. I wish I could’ve met her.”
“Me too.”
Chapter 22
Millie
A familiar ache beats between my thighs as I writhe and twist through soft sheets. Fingers move from the warm skin on my stomach, down my hips, and over my leggings. My body melts into the feeling, and Finn’s familiar scent engulfs me. The pressure increases, sliding smoothly over the thin fabric, and pleasure—
The distant sound of a door closing jolts me from sleep, and my eyes shoot open.
My hands burst out from under the covers, and I sit up to let my eyes adjust, baffled when I realize where I am. That’s Finn’s teacup on the nightstand and his shoes by the bathroom door. My head drops back to the pillow with awhoosh.
Reality hits me like a splash to the face.
Oh. My. God.
I was fantasizing about Finn.
