Page 26 of The Interception (Southern Sports Sweethearts #2)

Chapter Nineteen

Layne

Ender Langley is a complicated man, but I have figured out one thing for certain. Whatever he’s willing to offer me, I want. A month. A year. A lifetime. I want it, if only so I can keep this connection with another person that’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

Now is the perfect time to test the recipe we agreed on.

I made it twice today to see how long it would take, but a third time and with another set of taste buds can’t hurt.

The poor man is going to run himself into an early grave if he doesn’t eat and rest properly.

All this fried food and a few naps between football practice, recipe testing, and taking care of his family doesn’t afford him either of those things.

I offer him my hand, which really is no help in getting him standing, but he accepts it and stands. “Layne.”

That tone again. I know what it means. He’s going to bring up that almost kiss in his kitchen that Lula interrupted.

He wants to talk about what he said about the tension, maybe test it out and see if it’s really more than friendship.

And I couldn’t decide at the time if it’s what I wanted.

If it would be good for me. But now? I don’t want him to question me.

I want him to kiss me.

But…he’s hurting. He’s vulnerable. He’s on an emotional roller coaster that’s speeding out of control. If we kiss and the feelings he has are merely a by-product of emotional overload, I’m going to end up with a broken heart.

I don’t know what to do. This isn’t something I signed up for.

The moment this thought enters my mind, I feel immediately convicted. I didn’t sign up for it, but that doesn’t mean God didn’t put it in my path for a reason.

Ender slides his fingers down my back, sending shivers up my spine. “Layne?”

I turn around and take a deep breath. “If you’re thinking about that moment in the kitchen, and you want to test your theory, I’m giving you permission to do so.”

Half expecting him to tackle me, I prepare for impact that never comes.

He slips his arms around my waist, slowly pulls me into a hug, and buries his face in the crook of my neck.

“Don’t think for a moment that I don’t want to, but you deserve more than that, Layne.

You deserve me focused, attentive, completely dedicated to you alone.

I’m distracted, my brain is a mess, and that isn’t how I want to feel when we first kiss. Okay?”

I nod. Relief floods my body.

“That said, do I have permission to take advantage of that offer when I’m feeling better?” He shifts, burying his face deeper and breathing me in.

“Yes,” I whisper, my voice cracking with intense emotion lodged in my throat.

“I’m lucky to have you on my team. In my life. I’m not sure what I did before you came into it, and I’m not sure what I’ll do when you leave.”

Oh yes, the leaving part. The part where we have lives in different places.

But do we have to? He does, because his work is here.

It’s not like he can make the two-hour commute from Savannah to Charleston for every home game.

Add the fact that uprooting Sarah Beth and Lula would be cruel at this point in their grief process.

I have family in Savannah but no job. I’m more flexible.

The realization that I could be persuaded to relocate if this thing with Ender turned into more than whatever it is now.

But I don’t say any of this, because the moment has passed.

Ender releases me and we head inside so I can make him dinner.

He makes himself comfortable on the sofa while I get busy in the kitchen.

I wasn’t sure if he would be up to helping me make it, but then again, I didn’t tell him what I was making.

We agreed via email that this was the recipe to go with, which in my mind constitutes us “designing it together,” so I throw my worry and make him the meal.

The chicken takes the longest to make, but with a crispy coating and just the right seasoning blend, it’s juicy and so good.

I whip up a garlic sauce and a buttered, toasted roll.

It’s simple but with a flavor blend that’s perfect for fall, tailgating, and hopefully winning this cook-off so Ender can stop worrying so much about his sister.

When I finally emerge from the kitchen, Ender is dozing on the sofa. Hesitantly—because I’m not sure what he needs more, sleep or food—I rub his arm. He peers at me with one eye and sniffs the air. His other eye pops open and he sits fully.

“That smells amazing. Is this the recipe for the cook-off?” He accepts the plate I offer him with all the excitement of a kid handed his favorite food.

“Yeah. Figured you should try it for real before I make it for the judges. I managed to shave a little time off my prep, too.”

He takes a big bite and his eyes roll back. With a full mouth, he says, “I need to hire you. You can’t leave Charleston. Sorry. You’re now my personal chef.”

“Well, I am looking for a job. I have experience as a personal chef for an athlete, you know.”

“Your brother?” he asks, taking another bite.

“Yep, but now he has a great wife to do that for him so I’m not needed as often. Or at all, really. She’s a great cook, so I’m only called in when there are meatballs to be made.”

“So you’re saying the best way to get a permanent personal chef is to marry one?” He looks me dead in the eyes to deliver his line, which makes the heat that attacks my whole face impossible to miss. “I might have to consider that option.”

The sandwich doesn’t stand a chance, which is unfortunate for me because I’m trying to figure out what to say in response.

The rate at which he consumes his food does not give me much time to work out his comments, design a noncommittal but flirty response, nor to gain the composure with which to deliver it.

All bad things, which is why I say, “I’m open for applications. ”

I’m open for applications.

And he doesn’t miss a beat.

“Shouldn’t I be the one open for applications if I’m the one hiring a personal chef?

” He’s going to play like he didn’t drop the wife bomb and add another layer of tension to our already stew-thick interactions.

I either have to call him out on what he said, or admit he’s right.

I can’t do either of those because he knows that I know what he said.

Admitting he’s right is admitting I’m embarrassed to call him out.

Calling him out means more blushing and putting myself out there as possible wife material.

What are we even talking about? I’ve known him not even two full weeks.

“You’re going to ignore me, aren’t you?” He puts his plate on the coffee table and sits back on the sofa, arms crossed, with a big old smirk on his face. The cocky little jerk.

“I figure maybe if I ignore you, you’ll eat some humble pie.” I reach for the plate to take it to the kitchen. He rises to follow me, no doubt to tease me a little more.

“You didn’t make any, which begs the question, what’s for dessert?

That was amazing, but now I want something sweet.

” He leans on the door frame while I load the dishwasher.

I’m glad a nap and some food seem to have brightened his mood, but now that he’s turned his focus on taunting me, I’m not so sure offering those things was a good idea for me.

“Unfortunately for you, I did not make anything for dessert. I had some chocolate bars but I ate them.” I shrug and shut the dishwasher door with no time to process anything else before Ender grasps my wrist and pulls me toward him.

“You’ll do,” he says a breath before he kisses me.

This was a planned and coordinated attack.

I know it was because the man just finished eating a garlic butter chicken sandwich, and yet his breath smells of peppermint.

His lips brush over mine, and mine tingle immediately with the sting of mint.

Yet it’s warmth and sweetness and spice all in a soft, gentle kiss.

Ender dips my head back to give himself better access and hugs me close. I’ve never been kissed this way. So calmly, with calculation, as if he’s memorizing exactly what every movement feels like. Burning it into his mind one precious second at a time.

Now I know what it means to have his full attention, his dedication, focus…

everything. I follow him down into the moment, ignoring everything else, every thought and distraction until it’s only him.

Let him guide me into the most amazing kiss of my entire life, one I’m almost positive cannot be outdone.

He was right. This was worth waiting for.

Ender is worth waiting for, and if I have to be patient through everything he and his family are dealing with right now, then I will. I’ll be patient. I’ll wait, because now I understand what made my brother go completely insane after he met Lottie.

When you find the one, you know. It’s a decade of knowing each other compressed into days or weeks. It’s every emotion you didn’t know you had to share, exploding forth in a kiss that can only be so amazing between the two of you alone. No one else. Just him.

He cups my face and slowly, reluctantly pulls back.

Silence falls between us, but it’s comfortable. It’s comforting.

Being wrapped in his arms feels more like home than anything ever has, and the terrible reality that I’ll have to decide comes crashing back.

No, not to decide. I’ve already decided.

If he asks me to stay, I will. But he has to ask me.

I’m not going to intrude on his life in ways he’s not ready.

I can’t possibly imagine distracting him from what he needs to do right now, so in my heart I’ve already agreed…

to moving to Charleston…to opening my restaurant here…

to falling in love with him. To anything, everything.

He just has to ask me first.

In his time.