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“Can’t forget the whipped cream.” I reach into the fridge door and hand him the red can.
“Good thinking. Having pumpkin pie without whipped cream is a criminal offense.” He takes out a slice of pie and puts it onto one of the paper plates still stacked on the countertop from earlier, and tops it with whipped cream. There’s a caddy with a bunch of plasticware nearby, and he grabs a fork from there too.
Then, instead of digging into the pie himself, he surprises me by placing it into my hands.
“Oh, thanks.” I settle at the bar and watch as he gets a slice for himself. “I have a question for you.”
He looks up at me from the pie, and my cheeks get hot.
“Um.” Why am I suddenly so nervous? Is it the way his gaze is burning into me like he wants to take me in his arms and kiss me? And it wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve thought of our hot tub kiss many times since it happened. Does he think about it as much as I do? Focus, Ariana. Ask him your question. “Would you be willing to read over what I’ve written so far and give me some feedback? I know it’s not what you’re used to writing, but you’re another author and I could use another set of eyes on my book.”
“You’d be okay with that?” He seems surprised by my request.
“You’re not going to be too critical, are you?”
“I won’t do that,” he says, grabbing his pie plate and settling atop the barstool next to me. “Unless you want me to.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down like that’s supposed to be seductive or something.
But I can only laugh. “Stop it. How am I supposed to take you seriously when you’re doing that?”
“That’s the point. You need to loosen up.” He shoves a forkful of pie into his mouth.
“You’re such an idiot sometimes.”
“It’s part of being in this family. We may make good businessmen, but we’re all a little stupid, too.”
“I like that about you guys,” I surprise myself by saying.
His gaze moves down to my mouth, and my breath catches. “You mean you like that about me?”
“Well, you’re one of the Keiths, so naturally.”
“Are you admitting you like something about me?” he asks.
“I guess I am.”
“I thought I was the enemy,” he says.
“Maybe you’ve grown on me.” It’s scary to admit it to him, but it’s true. He’s grown on me a lot.
He leans in and brushes his lips against mine, tentatively, like he’s not sure it’s okay. But I give him a little bit of encouragement.
I wrap my hands around his neck and thread my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. He groans against my mouth and kisses me more fervently. My head spins as the kiss lengthens, my pie abandoned. I’m lost in the feel of his lips on mine and his soft hair beneath my probing fingertips.
But then a sinking feeling settles over me, and I pull away as I realize he might have just done this very thing with that blonde ponytail girl who showed up. For all I know, he’s been dating her this entire time.
“What’s wrong?” His brow furrows.
“I hate to be that girl, but there’s something that’s bugging me,” I say.
“Okay, what is it?”
“Are you dating that girl who stopped by in the red convertible?”
“No way.”
“There seemed to be something between you two,” I say, hating myself for even bringing it up.
“I don’t want her, Ariana. I want you.”