Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
That little question, the implied, what are we doing here, got me. It’d been much easier to resist Nolan when all I could see was a stuck-up city slicker. But this Nolan, the quietly vulnerable one who found beauty in booths of odds and ends and delight in shaved ice, was a siren. And I was a ship at sea about to wreck, reckless and helpless in the face of his pull.
I scooted closer. Nolan didn’t back away. In fact, he slowly smiled as I leaned in. No shy flower, he leaned in too, meeting me halfway. I brushed my lips across his, a little hello, just to see. And what I found was intoxicating. His lips were supple, a soft landing spot that turned my brief intention into a lingering introduction.
“Wow.” Nolan breathed the word against my lips, and I kissed him again, this time with more purpose. And wow, indeed. Kissing him was like diving into my favorite shaved-ice flavor after a decade of not tasting it. I’d forgotten how much I liked this, simply kissing. Nolan was sweet with layers of sensation, and I couldn’t get enough.
And he kissed me back, not waiting for me to take charge, but an equal give-and-take that swept me along until there was a hooting sound off in the distance and we sprang apart.
“Fuck.” I braced my hands on my knees. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I did.” Nolan chuckled before sobering. “Let me guess, you want to pretend it didn’t happen?”
“No, it definitely did.” I groaned. My phone buzzed with an alarm, warning me about picking up the boys. “And crap. I have to pick up the twins soon.”
“To be continued?” Nolan suggested lightly.
“Maybe,” I said even as my body said hell, yes. Luckily, I had the upcoming Thanksgiving break to figure out what the hell to do about this Nolan problem.
Nine
Happy Thanksgiving week break, ohana! Please be safe and return well-rested and ready to work on our holiday festival!
NOLAN
I thought about kissing Merry pretty much nonstop during Thanksgiving week. I remembered his taste while menu planning with Cara. I thought about his husky groans while Cara, I, and all three kids did the biggest shopping trip of my entire life. We had groceries upon groceries, and still, I thought of Merry as I put them all away. I visualized his expression while slicing and dicing under Cara’s watchful eye and recalled his touch while we awaited her family. And perhaps not surprisingly, my thoughts slipped from wanting to missing as I walked the tightrope of limited conversation topics with Cara’s family. Finally, on Thursday morning, while the kitchen was a disaster of food prep and loud relations, I gave in and texted Merry.
He’d said I could, so I did while hidden in an alcove. I was usually the life of the party, but not today.
I’m in hell, but at least there’s mac-n-cheese.
Gratifyingly, his reply was fast.
We’ve got mac salad. Mom’s oven space is at a premium.
Are they watching football at your place? Please say no.
No.
I could almost hear Merry laughing at me.
We surfed this morning. Now Dad’s messing with the grill while the shrimp marinates, and the boys are watching old surfing videos with Grandpa.
No turkey?
I asked while picturing Merry surfing. Shirtless. Muscles rippling.
I don’t want to tell you what Cara paid for this one here.
I bet. No, we always do shrimp because it’s cheaper and mom’s favorite, rice, mac salad, pineapple salsa, but the real star is mom’s pies.
I almost groaned aloud.
I love pie, but the ones here are all store-bought.
Blasphemy. My mom’s lemon meringue made with eggs from their backyard is where it’s at.
That sounds divine.
I wanted to add that I wanted to taste the pie on his lips even more, but I wasn’t sure where we stood, let alone how flirty I should be.
Are you surviving the relative invasion?
I smiled, happy Merry was trying to keep the conversation going.
Barely. Oh, and tomorrow, I have a choice of an eight-hour tour with Cara’s relatives and the girls, shopping with Cara, the baby, and her painfully opinionated mom, or staying home alone.
Merry’s reply came quickly again.
If you’re that miserable, come up to North Shore. Catch an early bus, and I’ll meet you at the bus stop near the Polynesian Center.
Huh. Public transit on the island was slow and unreliable, unlike New York. However, Merry was inviting me. That had to mean something, right? And I really did want to escape. Cara had plenty of help, and I could do more for her after her family left next week.
I could do that…
Good. We’ll save you some pie.
I spent a long time staring at that good. Did he truly want me to come? Did this mean he was down with more kissing because I really, really wanted to kiss him again.