Page 28

“I’m so sorry,” I groan, burying my face in my palms, not even caring that I’m going to get cucumber juice in my eyes. People go to the spa for that, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.

“Wren,” he pulls my hands down gently, “I couldn’t care less what we eat.”

“No…” I shake my head. “You’re a chef! You eat fancy stuff every day. I can’t serve you freakin’ cereal, Carson… I’ll run to the store real quick. I’ll be back in like fifteen minutes. I’ll hurry, I swear. Just watch TV or?—”

“Tink, I promise cereal is fine,” he cuts me off, a sweet smile on his face. “And I guarantee you I do not eat ‘ fancy stuff’ every day. Cereal actually sounds pretty good. Come on,” he pulls open the cabinet with the bowls, “show me what my options are.”

I. Am. Mortified.

Why wasn’t I watching the meat? Why was I so absorbed in the feeling of Carson against me that I completely forgot about the food I was cooking for him? It was just, poof …finito; gone entirely from my mind—nothing but inappropriate, lust-filled images occupying the space.

Tears well up in my eyes as Carson places two bowls on the counter and grabs spoons from the drawer.

“Hey.” He steps up to me and tilts my chin, wiping away the escaped tear from my cheek. “This is perfect, Tink. I promise.”

Something about the way his eyes smile down at me makes me believe him. He really is fine with this dinner. This chef, who prepares the most incredible meals for me, is okay with eating cereal with me tonight.

With a slight nod, I return the smile. “Okay.”

We fill our bowls and walk to the table.

“Wanna make this a really relaxing evening?” he asks, hesitating over his chair. “Let’s go watch a movie while we eat.”

“Really?” I ask, as this is completely out of character for him.

“Why not?” He shrugs. “There’s a shit ton of Sandman movies on Netflix now.” Carson and I have always shared a love for Adam Sandler. Since we were kids, we both enjoyed watching his movies.

“So, your two weeks are almost up,” he states as an old man says, “terrific” on the falsely cracked screen.

I hum. “I know. It flew by.”

“Did you find anything you enjoyed?”

“I found a few things, actually. But y’know, my biggest takeaway, I think, is that I just enjoy doin’ things for fun. Tryin’ new things, gettin’ out of my comfort zone. There’s still a lot I want to try, though, so I’m gonna keep at it.”

He nods while chewing his Frosted Flakes. “And how did the whole not-helping-people thing go?”

“Surprisingly, I didn’t step out of my way for anyone who didn’t really need me. I thought it would be a lot harder, and honestly, the first couple of times, I thought I might puke.” I chuckle. “But it got easier.”

“Good. I’m proud of you, Tink. I knew you could be an asshole like the rest of us,” he teases.

“Hey. I am not… that .” My cheeks redden.

“Not what?”

“You know what.”

“Say it.” He gives me a mischievous smile, knowing full well that I won’t.

“No, Remi .”

He places his spoon in his bowl and turns to face me. “Remi?” His brows pull together. “Did you just call me a dog?” he half laughs.

“No!” I burst into laughter, completely forgetting that my brother’s dog is named Remington—Remi for short.

“ Hmm … You should probably explain that then,” he says, attempting to get a word in over my cackles.

I take a calming breath. “Remi! You know Remi.” I nudge his leg with my hand. “The rat… From the movie!”

“Ooo… kay . And that’s better?” He laughs. “What the hell does a rat have to do with me?” His brows are pinched in confusion.

“He’s a chef!” I explain. “ Little Chef ! … You don’t remember?!”

“ Hmm ,” he hums. “I prefer Carson. Or Carse… Or, His Lordship.”

“What? That’s ridiculous, I am not callin’ you that!” I laugh again, tears in my eyes.

His eyes find mine. “And do not tell your brother about this.” He points a stern finger at me. “I do not need him callin’ me the same thing he calls his pet.”

“Well, with how much he babysits the girls, it’s only a matter of time before he watches it and pieces it together himself.”

He lets out a sigh and shakes his head as he takes a large bite from the spoon, a drop of milk sliding down his chin.

We sit in comfortable silence while finishing our bowls of cereal—Lucky Charms for me and Frosted Flakes for him. I only have a three-cushion couch, and we’re on opposite ends, but I still feel so close to him, even with a seat between us. This whole thing feels so…comfortable.

After a brief argument, Carson takes both our dishes to the kitchen and loads them into the dishwasher. I suspect he’ll leave now that dinner is finished, but surprisingly, he settles back into the cushion, his socked feet stretched out toward the coffee table.

I settle in as well, pulling the purple checkered throw blanket from the back of the couch over myself. As I watch the characters on the TV, my mind doesn’t follow the story unfolding. Instead, I’m deep in thought, my mind reeling over the remaining items on my list.

“What are you thinkin’ about over there?” Carson nudges my foot under the blanket.

Biting my lip, I shake my head and smile. “Nothin’.”

He sits up and grabs the remote, pausing the movie.

“Wren Beckett, you can’t lie to me.” His deep, ocean-blue eyes study me, trying to see what else he might find beneath the response.

He looks more relaxed than I’ve seen him in…

well, a really long time. A loose strand of his black hair falls over his forehead. He’s the picture of relaxation.

I let out a resigned sigh and shrug one shoulder, worrying my lip.

“I just wish I could have done more in the two weeks.” My gaze travels back to the screen in front of us.

“But that’s okay. I can still work on things.

It’ll just feel different. I liked feelin’ like I accomplished something these last two weeks, that’s all. ”

“Let me see the list.”

“What? No. There’s nothin’ on there that you can help with.”

“I’m sure there’s at least one thing we could try. If not tonight, then tomorrow. Let me see it.”

Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

I need to think fast. There’s no way I’m showing him the list I’ve added…

well, personal things too. Sure, I already asked him about those things, kinda .

But I’m not showing him that list. I know he wouldn’t judge me; it just feels…

weird… to show my brother’s best friend a list detailing all the sexual things I want to try.

I shake my head and hold the blanket to my face, peeking my eyes over the top.

Realization dawns clearly on his stoic face. His pupils widen as he takes a deep breath and hums in understanding. We sit in a stare-off. If I could read his mind right now, I’d be the happiest woman in the world.

“Alright, so tell me something.” He sits up, placing his elbows on his knees and tilting his head to the side to look at me. “Why did you put those things on the list?”

Oh God. Please just open the Earth and swallow me whole. Now. Like, RIGHT NOW.

It was hard enough asking him to join me in the activities. Now he wants to sit and talk about them after refusing to help me?

Hard pass.

“Carse, I can’t talk about… those things . It feels too weird,” I sheepishly admit, keeping my eyes on the blanket that I fidget with between my fingers.

The way his eyes have darkened hasn’t gone unnoticed by me. His gaze radiates pure confidence. Suddenly, it’s becoming more and more difficult to breathe.

“If you’re interested in doin’ “ those things ”, then I highly recommend being comfortable sayin’ them…and definitely talkin’ about them.”

Dang. I know he’s right.

If I want to be brave enough to do them, I need to practice saying them first. Do I really think I’ll be able to do them if I can’t even say them?

Words are important in these situations; I need to get better at this.

And who better to start vocalizing them to than someone I know for sure likes it too and wouldn’t judge me for it?

“Okay… Fine.” I sit up straight and place my feet on the floor. The wine must be working if I’m seriously about to do this. I only had a few sips, but when you’re a lightweight like me, that’s all you need.

Taking a breath for bravery, I quickly release it and speak before I lose the courage.

“I put them on the list because I want to see if they turn me on the way the thought of them does. I’ve read books and heard stories, and it always…

intrigues me. I’m hopin’ that maybe I could—…

It’s just, I’ve never…” I stop when I realize I’m going way too far into detail with my answer.

“Never what?” His pupils are dilated, the black swallowing the warm blue.

Well, I’m already here. Might as well get it all out there now.

“I’ve never… finished with someone,” I softly murmur in the quiet room, as the sounds of the summer night drift through the closed window.

Carson lets out a soft “hmm” and mumbles something under his breath.

I take this as a sign I need to clarify. “I can’t while someone is watchin’ me. I feel like I’m doin’ something wrong. I get all in my head and?—”

“Slow down,” he interrupts, gripping my knee. “Wren…” His voice is low and tight. “I wish things were different. I really do.”

“It’s okay. I’m not askin’ you for help or anything. Not again,” I state with a soft chuckle. “Here, let’s just finish the movie.”

I quickly press play and snuggle back into the cushions, pulling the blanket up high. Carson’s assessing gaze burns into the side of my head for a few minutes before he finally turns his attention back to the screen.

One day, maybe I’ll stop embarrassing myself in front of this man. One day.

My eyes grow heavy, and before I know it, I hear the faint sound of the credit music playing on the TV. I try to resist the heaviness of my eyelids but find the battle pointless. Just as I finally give up the fight, I hear the quiet click of the front door shutting.