My fingers kept hovering over Samir’s message all day every time I picked up my phone during work. I still hadn’t replied, but in my head, I excused myself because I’d been at work.
The truth was though, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say—or type.
It was too soon, wasn’t it? To be running off into the sunset with him somewhere else. I had a kid and a job to think about. I had responsibilities here on the island. I couldn’t just abandon everything on a moment’s notice.
But would he take me saying no as rejection? Would he think less of me if I said no? I knew his message said it was okay to turn the proposal down, but people said that all the time. It didn’t mean they meant it.
As I drove home, I wished… well, I wished a lot of things, but one of them kept circling in my mind, and I hated it because it sounded wrong. It sounded vile even in my head but if only I could be just Cole, just for a moment, if I could simply be Cole—no kids, no jobs, no grief—so that I could go with Samir wherever he wanted, wherever fate took us…
But that wasn’t possible. Even Lilian’s magic couldn’t do that shit, so what was even the point of courting with the idea?
I sighed, pulled over in front of the house, and snuck in, but found Carson in the kitchen inhaling a bowl of something that, upon closer inspection, turned out to be cookie dough.
“Still up?” I said in lieu of a greeting.
“Just finished work,” he replied with a full mouth.
“Oh my God.” I winced. “Close your mouth. And stop eating raw dough. You’ll get sick.”
Carson shrugged and muttered “worth it” before shoving another mouthful in his mouth.
“Fine. But I’m not holding your hair when you puke your guts out,” I said, and he rolled his eyes.
“It doesn’t even have eggs. So I doubt you’ll have to,” he said, flicking his nonexistent long hair with nonchalance and superiority.
I looked from the bowl to him and back to the bowl, and without needing to say anything, he passed the bowl over to me along with the wooden spoon he’d been licking, and I had a taste myself.
“Fuuuck!” I moaned.
“Right?” Carson asked.
I took a deep breath and another mouthful before I moaned again.
“This is better than sex,” I groaned.
Carson raised an eyebrow and shook his head.
“You need to get laid, little brother.”
I ignored his comment and savored the cookie dough that warmed my mouth, my throat, and my belly all at once. It was a vanilla-y and chocolate-y flavor after the initial burst of cinnamon, and I couldn’t help myself to another spoonful.
“Where the heck did this come from?” I asked.
“Remi,” Carson said. He was the new chef at the Grill since he, his brother Azrael, and their family settled on the island earlier this year. “He wanted to make a dessert for both vegans and non-vegans so it’s less work in the kitchen.”
“That’s a winner. Though cookies aren't much of a dessert.”
Carson snatched the bowl back from me and flicked the spoon in the air with flair, saying, “He’s deconstructing it.”
“Ah, that changes things,” I said.
We both chuckled.
“How was Ella today?”
Carson nodded.
“Enzo said she was fine. She kept asking for Samir.”
