Emory laughed, his dour mood dissolving. “Isn’t the secret ingredient supposed to be a secret?”
Amelia shrugged and stared dreamily at the ceiling as she dried the pot. So many moments with her were worthy of committing to memory. That was one—how beautiful she was without make up on, her lips stained red from wine, the way she looked at him as if she was memorizing him too.
“It’s my mom’s recipe. When she met my dad, he was awful at taking care of himself, so cooking was her love language. She taught me everything I know.”
“About cooking?”
“That and how to patiently love a hard man.”
Amelia set the pot aside and contemplated the courtyard where the wind toppled a glazed pot. It rolled, unbroken, on its side. Lost in thought, she wrung the dish towel in her hands. Tears welled, but she quickly wiped them away before they spilled down her cheeks.
“Sorry. I’m fine most of the time, but the pain surfaces so fast. There’s nothing like it.”
Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to temper her grief. It never worked that way. Emory stood and circled the island. He lifted her to the counter and wrapped her in a strong embrace. Amelia held on tight as if she wanted to fall right through.
Cheek to cheek, Emory rocked her in his arms. “I know it hurts. I know it does.”
“All I have are memories of her. What if I forget? Then she’ll really be gone.”
Emory combed his fingers through her hair, the strands wavy from the kitchen’s heat. Amelia gazed up at him with tears clinging to her long lashes. He’d once responded to her hurt with callous disinterest. To think of it filled him with shame.
“You won’t,” he said and kissed each of her tear-stained cheeks.
“Did you?”
Emory shook his head. “I still remember my mom. You’ll remember yours too.”
Where he’d never been elegant with words, Emory could rely on touch to convey what was in his heart. With a hand at Amelia’s cheek, his thumb traced her lips plump and swollen from crying. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers in what might’ve been a kiss too hard, but Amelia softened it as she sunk into him.
His tongue parted her lips with no cajoling, but her fingertips stroking his chest reminded him to go slow and savor. Savor, he did. Her mouth was sweet as he kissed her deeply.
“What a poem you are,” he whispered, love drunk and languishing. “I wanna hold you. Do you wanna do that, go lay down together?”
When Amelia nodded, Emory lifted her from the counter and led her by the hand to his bedroom.
TWENTY-NINE
EMORY
In Emory’s bedroom, he turned on a movie, and it struck him then how small acts of normalcy settled them both. Like all lovers, though, it was a thinly veiled distraction as he and Amelia kissed in the dark.
His fingers roamed her body in a feather-light touch—a brush across her breasts, down her stomach, between her legs. It wasn’t just a tease but exploration he’d never quite taken the time to master. He did then and discovered new parts of her.
Beneath him, Amelia rolled her hips with rising pressure against his hard cock. With warmth rippling through him, Emory migrated his lips to her neck and lightly sucked on the hollow beneath her jaw.
“God, you’re a heartbreaker,” he said before trailing kisses down her body.
“I’m really not,” Amelia laughed. Her fingers sunk in his hair and nails grazed his scalp. He recalled she didn’t like being misunderstood in that way. Hearts weren’t always broken by malice, though. Sometimes people just got clumsy.
Emory rested his head in her lap and stared up at her. With wide eyes, more Bambi than bedroom, Amelia gazed back as he caressed the silky inside of her thigh. She hummed at the touch and combed her fingers through his hair.
“I won’tbreak your heart,” she told him. “Don’t break mine either.”
“You’re safe with me.”
Emory sealed the promise with a kiss to her knee before sliding off her shorts and underwear. He tossed them to the floor, and the rest of their clothes quickly followed.
Make her sing had taken on new meaning as she laid naked before him. Emory palmed her breasts that fit so perfectly in his hands. Her nipples hardened with his touch, and he dipped his head to suck each one. The tension in her limbs eased as Emory’s tongue swirled each nipple and elicited from her such soft sighs.
