Usually naked.
Or cooking in his kitchen together.
Riding bikes together.
Working out.
Discovering all of the things we share in common in spite of our intrinsic differences.
“Vanilla?” I guess.
His eyes flicker with approval. “Good. What else?”
I sniff again. Now I want to pass the pop quiz with flying colors.
“Caramel. And… wood? Is wood a flavor?”
“It’s oak,” he says.
“That sounds better. This would go well with my award-winning second place bourbon balls.” Miss Bettie had taken back her crown and order had been restored. Though next year I might give her a run for her money.
“Those would go perfectly, you’re right.” He slides the second glass toward me. “This one’s a little older.”
“How old are we talking?”
“Seven years.”
“Still just a kid then. Not even old enough to drive.”
Ian laughs.
“I knew you thought I was funny,” I tell him.
“I think you’re hilarious actually,” he says mildly.
That’s a hell of a compliment from him. I preen, putting my hands under my chin and fluttering my eyelashes enthusiastically to annoy him.
He shakes his head at me, not taking the bait. “It’s our oldest batch. Got to start somewhere.”
I take a careful sip.
Warmth spreads slowly across my tongue, richer this time.
“Oh,” I say.
Ian leans his elbows on the table slightly. “Oh good or oh bad?”
“Oh like… oh.” I gesture vaguely. “That’s cozy.”
“Cozy?”
“Like sitting by a fire while someone attractive chops wood nearby.”
He nods in approval.
“Or like sex. Oh as in orgasm.”
Ian goes still and his eyes darken.
