He grins. “Good?”
“It’s amazing. And you don’t really taste the syrup.”
“Nope. That’s what the website said,” he replies, clearly very pleased with himself. “And the best part is, there’s enough here for at least two more glasses. Then, I’ll have to brew you some more decaf coffee.”
I look at the ingredients and imagine him sitting at his workbench, combing through recipes on the internet, just because I was complaining about giving up my iced coffee. The fact he researched it and then executed this treat is something I’ll never forget.
“Shit, Charli, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he blurts out, his smile replaced with panic.
I wave my hand. “No, I’m not upset. This is…” I cry harder.
Quinn removes the glass from my hand and pulls me into his arms. “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t push me to reply, just patiently waits me out. After a few minutes, I get myself together enough to look up intohis hypnotic dark eyes. “I’m such a mess. Hormones,” I reply with a sniffle.
He reaches for a paper towel and tears it off the roll, handing it over so I can wipe my face. “Did I do it wrong?” he asks, his question full of concern.
“No, you did it very right,” I respond, dabbing at my eyes one last time and tossing the paper towel in the trash. “This…” Deep breath. “This was the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
He looks surprised and a bit embarrassed. “It’s just coffee, Charli.”
I’m already shaking my head. “No, it’s more than that and you know it. You did this because you knew it would make me happy. Because I’ve been bitchy about giving up my coffee and you came up with an alternative. Not just that, but you took my concerns about caffeine and extra sugar and found a solution.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he says, stepping into my personal space and wrapping his arm around my lower back. “Drink some of your coffee, because there’s more.”
My eyes widen. “More iced coffee?”
“Nope. Well, yes, but for tomorrow. There’s another surprise.”
I grin and take a sip of my drink. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“I know you like ice cream sundaes,” he starts, placing the refrigerator items inside my fridge and grabbing the white bag from the freezer. “I’m making you one.”
“An ice cream sundae?”
“Yes, ma’am. I found a low-sugar coconut milk and vanilla bean ice cream, and thought we’d doctor it up with some of the caramel sauce and fresh fruit.”
Again, cue the waterworks.
“Don’t do that again,” he begs, wiping at my eyes with his thumb before returning to the drawer to retrieve my ice cream scooper. “Peaches or pears?”
“What?”
“Would you like me to slice up fresh peaches or pears? Both complement the caramel sauce well.”
I look at the bag on the counter and realize there’s a bag of fresh fruit peeking out of it. “Umm…both?”
He grins and grabs a knife. “You got it. Why don’t you take the coffee into the living room and find something to watch on TV. I’ll be in shortly.”
I nod, this time leaving him alone to make the sundaes. I already know I want to watch the rest of the ballgame, so I get comfortable on the couch with my iced coffee and watch as my Reds take a three-nothing lead.
“I thought I told you to find somethinggoodto watch,” he sasses and he joins me in the living room with two bowls.
“This is good. Much better than the Guardians.”
He gasps and holds the bowl away from me. “I think I’ll eat both bowls now,” he teases.
“Not on your life, buster.” I set my coffee drink down and practically leap into his lap as he sits down. Fortunately, he’s prepared for my assault and quickly sets the bowls down on the table and then grabs on to my sides. He shoves his fingers into my flesh, tickling me and making me squirm. “Stop!”
