Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“I’m glad you think so,” he chuckles. “It’s a Bolognese sauce with homemade noodles.”
Ah. That would explain the flour portion of the mess. I grab a spoon from the drawer and stick it into the cherries. “Wow. You’re really going all out tonight. If I’d known, I would’ve put on a dress or something fancier than this,” I say, gesturing to my jeans and t-shirt.
He raises a brow at me, and gestures to his own messy apron.
I giggle. “Okay, point taken. But what kind of noodles did you make?”
He sighs theatrically.
“I tried to make fettucine, but they came out a little uneven.” Then, Rob gestures to the plastic coat hangers he jerry-rigged into a noodle drying rack. Somehow, I’d missed it in the general chaos of the kitchen, but I see he wasn’t kidding: pale strips of dough cover the surface of mismatched lengths.
I put a spoonful of cherries in my mouth. Yum. Meanwhile, Rob stands next to me, surveying his work as a sculptor might examine his masterpiece. He crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing beneath the thin t-shirt.
“If I make noodles again,” he says, “I’ll need to get one of those cutter things I’ve seen on TV so that they stay even. And I’ll need to use an actual rolling pin instead of a wine bottle.”
I giggle again and wrap my arms around him. “They’ll be tasty, and really, that’s all that matters to me. The shape isn’t a big deal. Big, small, I love them all.”
His brow smooths as he presses a kiss to my forehead and then pulls back a bit. “Hey there, gorgeous,” he murmurs. “I don’t think I’ve told you how beautiful you are today.”
I blush with pleasure.
“Hey there, handsome. Looking good yourself.”
“How was school by the way?”
I smile.
“It was fine. I found out I did well on my midterms.”
“That’s great news.” He kisses my forehead again, the bridge of my nose, and finally my lips. He smells like tomatoes and spice and garlic, and I can’t get enough of this man, my insides beginning to moisten. “Hmm,” he says, his voice almost a growl. “You taste like cherries, sweetheart.”
I shoot him devilish smile and lean forward to bite gently at his lower lip. He cups my ass in his hand before I can move away and gives me a kiss that leaves me breathless.
“Go put on the movie,” he says.
“You’re kicking me out so soon?” I tease. “You think I’m going to distract you from your cooking?”
“You already have. Now go on. Scoot.”
“Fine, fine.” I have half a mind to tempt him to take me on the kitchen floor, but it would be unfortunate to ruin such a wonderful meal. Instead, I settle for putting some extra sway in my gait as I stroll to the living room, and I can feel his gaze glued to my ass the entire way. I giggle. After all, we’re so comfortable with each other that it’s almost like we’re an old married couple already. So how would he feel if we added some babies to the mix?
12
Pepper
* * *
Dinner tastes even better than it smelled. Rob’s cooking has completely blown me away, and I swear, this guy could work in a restaurant if he wanted. I don’t remember it being this good when I was a kid, so either I was too young to care about flavor, or he has seriously improved. The man even made garlic bread with minced garlic and drizzled butter that melts into the dough. I’m in heaven.
I mop up the remainder of the Bolognese sauce with a crust of garlic bread and put it in my mouth. Unladylike? I don’t care. I release a long sigh as I lean back against the couch, my hands clasped over my pleasantly-full tummy. On screen, Shaun and his friends are having an argument, but I’m in such a state of euphoria that I can’t be bothered to really listen.
Rob eyes me appreciatively. He finished his meal before I did, and although his plate is just as empty as mine, he doesn’t appear nearly as exhausted by the act of eating.
“I take it that you liked dinner,” he quips with a smile.
“I loved dinner.”
He grins at me and leans forward to refill my wine glass. “Do you have room for dessert?”
“Of course I do,” I reply, faux offended. “I have a second stomach for dessert, don’t you know?”
He chuckles at me, low and sexy. The sound of the rumbling noise does wonderful, tingly things to my body but before I can reach for my man, he gets up to fetch us some cheesecake. He returns with two plates with wedges on them, except that the cheesecake is practically buried beneath drifts of whipped cream.
“Oh my god, where’s the cake?” I joke.
“In your tummy,” he replies, and with delighted eyes, I take a plate from him and fit a forkful of deliciousness into my mouth.