Kiss My Ash Page 4

  I leaned a little closer. “I’m going to need to try that again.”

  She rolled her eyes with a smile yet gave me another sample anyway.

  That time, I concentrated on it enough to say it was good.

  “Missing anything?” she asked, as if I had enough sense to know what, if anything, would make it better.

  I was a simple guy—give me two pieces of bread and a slice of cheese and I was happy. And the only thing I ever added to food was salt, so she’d clearly pegged me wrong. “Not that I can tell. I like it just the way it is.”

  She beamed and then set the spoon on the counter without tasting it for herself. I wanted to point out that just because I was good with it didn’t mean she’d agree, but I decided against it when I remembered that my nana used to do the same with my pawpaw. I might’ve only been six or seven when I had asked her why, but I would never forget the reason—she could eat anything as long as my pawpaw was happy.

  While Kristy worked around the kitchen—which could be done by pivoting on one foot—I stepped to the side so I wouldn’t be in her way. To my surprise, the small cart in the middle began to roll as I rested against it, causing me to lose my balance. It must’ve startled her, too, because she quickly turned to help steady the cart before I fell on my ass.

  Once I had regained my footing and shifted the butcher’s table back to where it was, I noticed the plastic ladle on the floor, the white tile splattered with red sauce. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect it to slide like that.”

  “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Happens to me on a daily basis.” Her light tone and smile convinced me of her sincerity. Although, that didn’t mean it made me feel any better about the incident.

  After wetting a paper towel, I started to clean the floor. But when she lowered herself onto her knees in front of me, I suddenly forgot what I was doing. We both sat, hunched over, wiping up the mess. It brought our faces close together, and I couldn’t help but notice the way she ran her tongue along her bottom lip.

  It called to me, begged for my attention, making me wonder if she tasted as good as she smelled. Then she closed the distance between us. As soon as I felt the heat of her breath against my lips, I pulled away. And then, to keep from witnessing the rejection in her eyes, I took the paper towel to the trash can.

  I couldn’t look at her.

  Because if I saw any sign of insecurity, I’d want to fix it.

  And one day—maybe not today—she’d hate me for giving in.

  “Would you like me to set the table?” I asked without facing her.

  “No, it’s okay.” She tried to act unaffected, though the resounding uncertainty in her tone gave her away. “Go ahead and take a seat. I’ll grab the bread from the oven and then bring the food over.”

  Avoiding eye contact was one thing, but there was no way I could ignore the self-doubt in her tone. And when I turned to her, I realized she refused to look at me, too. So, I moved closer until I stood behind her. But that wasn’t close enough. I caged her in with my arms, my hands pressed to the counter on either side of her to hold myself up. Her body had grown rigid, and her breathing became ragged, yet still, I didn’t shy away.

  I was about to secure a seat in hell.

  Her shoulder blades grazed my chest as I leaned into her, lowering my lips to her ear. Then I whispered, “A little bit of patience will get you everything you want, Kristy…and more.”

  She pulled in such a sharp breath I practically heard it hit the back of her throat. Although, I didn’t wait around to listen to her release it. I pushed away and stepped aside to give her space. She glanced over her shoulder fast enough to ensure I no longer hovered behind her, shifted to the side, and opened the door to the oven. Everything was fine until she bent over to pull out the tray of bread. With her spine arched and ass sticking out, it was nearly impossible to pay attention to anything else…until I heard her hiss and the baking sheet rattle against the oven rack.

  I rushed to her, not once thinking about the position we were in. She leaned forward while I stood behind her with one hand on her hip, her ass in my crotch. I’d only meant to help her with the pan, and somehow, I’d inadvertently put us in a compromising position.

  “Here, let me get it.” I eased her away from the open oven and then stepped around her. Once I had the garlic bread on the stove, I turned to make sure she wasn’t hurt. To my surprise, she had both plates in her hand, taking them to the small bistro table that sat in front of bay windows.

  I was glad to see she hadn’t burned herself, though her silence concerned me.

  “Are you okay?” I asked after sitting across from her—there were only two seats, so my options were limited to this one or the floor.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She certainly didn’t sound fine, and even if I hadn’t heard her morose tone, I wouldn’t have believed her. As soon as my ass hit the seat, she was out of hers, heading to the fridge.

  I had a pretty good idea of what bothered her, though it wasn’t something I could necessarily have a conversation about. So, rather than help her with the drinks, I chose to remain at the table and use the time to discern her body language in the hopes I would get a better understanding.

  Up until this moment, I’d only ever seen her carry herself with confidence. But now, she slinked around the kitchen with slumped shoulders, downcast gaze, and uncertain steps. I had no doubt it came from my refusal to kiss her after she’d put herself out there, yet nothing explained why it had left her so solemn and hopeless.

  Regardless, I’d never understand, because I couldn’t ask without opening the door to questions I couldn’t answer. So far, I hadn’t technically lied. Once the cat was out of the bag, she would most definitely disagree, though that didn’t change the fact that I hadn’t ever uttered anything other than the truth.

  Deception, I was guilty of; lying, not so much.

  Kristy brought two glasses of ice water to the table and slid into her seat. Still, she hadn’t lifted her eyes to meet mine—or even acknowledged my presence in general. And rather than harass her for answers, I tried to entice her into a conversation, hoping we wouldn’t have to eat in silence.

  “This is delicious, Kristy. Thank you for inviting me over. I don’t remember the last time I had anything this amazing.”

  When she didn’t say anything, I gave up, at a loss for what else to do that wouldn’t start a fire I couldn’t put out. Instead, I decided to finish my plate, offer to help clean up, and then head home, accepting that nothing would ever happen with this woman.

  But after a few seconds of staring at her plate, she finally spoke up. “Are you dating someone? I never thought to ask…I’m sorry. I’ve just assumed you were single by the way you look at me sometimes. And now I’ll feel like an idiot if you have a girlfriend or something.”

  I reached across the small tabletop and placed my hand over hers, lightly stroking her smooth skin with my thumb. “No, Kristy. I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “Oh,” was all she said while nodding slowly.

  “Why does it bother you that I didn’t kiss you? It’s like you shut down. You did the same thing last weekend at the pool when I told you I had plans and couldn’t get together with you that night.”

  Kristy sat back in her chair, sliding her hand out from beneath mine and dropping it into her lap. Her shoulders lifted with each full breath until she finally blew it out in a harsh exhale, meeting my gaze again. “It’s going to sound really pathetic, and likely make me look arrogant or something.”

  “Doubtful. Just say it.”

  She rolled her eyes and hunched forward, propping her elbows on the edge of the table. “Okay, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.” After another deep breath, she added, “I guess I assumed you wouldn’t turn me down. I’m not sure if I thought that because of the way I’ve caught you looking at me, or if it’s because you’re so much younger and I was under the impression that someone your age would jump at the chance to be with an older woman.�
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  “You’re not wrong about any of that.”

  “Okay, then why? Why have you rejected me—last weekend doesn’t count, considering your dad being in town wasn’t your choice. Is it because I’m a mom? Are you interested in Emma instead?”

  “No, Kristy. Nothing like that.”

  She dropped her gaze from my face to my plate, staring at it with unfocused eyes. Thoughts whirled in her head that I was desperate to hear, yet I couldn’t do anything other than wait for her to offer them aloud. To my surprise, when she glanced up again, she uttered, “If it is about her, or if it ever becomes an issue, please tell me.”

  “Uh, sure. Is it usually an issue with men you date?”

  A burst of humorless laughter erupted, though her smile appeared to be genuine. “That would imply that I date. Which I don’t.”

  “You haven’t gone out with anyone since you and Emma’s dad split?”

  She shrugged while shoving her noodles around her plate with her fork. “I was a kid with a kid, and not many guys my age wanted to deal with that. Most of them were convinced I’d wind up pregnant if they slept with me, like having a baby is some chronic disease that would flare up if I had sex. When I was in my mid-twenties, it was easier, but even still, I was left with those who were either too immature to understand my responsibilities, or they were too focused on starting their careers. Needless to say, relationships weren’t what they were looking for. Finally, when Emma was twelve, I started seeing this guy—the first one since I was seventeen who took me out more than once. We were together for almost two years when he decided that the already-made family wasn’t for him. And I haven’t tried again since.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with assholes.” I hoped she could hear the sincerity in my tone. “If you don’t mind me asking, why haven’t you played the field since that guy left? Burned too many times or you just don’t care anymore?”

  “Honestly? With Emma being the same age I was when I got pregnant with her, I haven’t wanted to give her any reason to believe it’s okay to have sex. And if I’m hooking up with someone—or if she sees me with a few different men—I worry that’ll give her the wrong impression.”

  I nodded, taking a moment to absorb all I’d just learned. “Well, that seems to me like it’s all the more reason to feel this out. You know? There’s need to rush into anything.”

  She regarded me with annoyance or boredom, yet the teasing smirk on her lips contradicted her slightly raised brows. “I’m not looking for anything serious—you’re way too young for me. I just thought maybe I could take advantage of Emma being gone over the summer. Plus, being neighbors makes it rather convenient.”

  If only she knew how tempted I was by that offer—my only hope was to make it eight more weeks without her discovering just how young I was. “Don’t get me wrong, Kristy…I’m all about that. But it’s not like you or I will be moving away in the next couple of months. And I can pretty much guarantee that I won’t start dating anyone in that amount of time, either. If you do, then you still get what you want, just with someone else.”

  Fighting against a smile, she said, “I just made myself look really desperate, didn’t I?”

  “No, not at all.” Soft amusement filled my words, causing her to lose the war against her grin. “Now let’s talk about your theory that I’m too young for you. What’s that nonsense about? Have you ever been with a younger man before?”

  Her eyes lit up just as her cheeks warmed beneath my scrutiny. She stopped playing with her food long enough to hold my stare, her fork dangling over her plate. “Not yet. Why…is there something I should know about younger men?”

  “How should I know? I’ve never been with one, either.” With a wink, I took another bite. And after a few seconds, she did the same.

  * * *

  Kristy refused to let me help clean up after dinner. I’d felt bad that she’d cooked and then had to wash all the dishes, but she had argued that it would’ve been the same if she’d eaten alone.

  So, I sat at the table and kept her company while she put everything away. When she slid aside the hideous-blue curtain that decorated the bottom of the butcher’s table to store the stockpot, I couldn’t help but ask, “Did that thing come with the house?”

  She glanced at me, then at the rolling cart she currently squatted in front of, and then back to me. “By the look on your face, I want to lie and say yes.”

  My cheeks ached from the continuous laughter that had held my lips in a permanent grin most of the evening. “It just doesn’t look like something you’d spend money on…by choice. Did you make the drapes yourself?”

  Humor danced in her eyes, turning them a brighter shade of aqua than usual. “No, smartass. As embarrassing as this is to admit, I bought it at a garage sale before I moved in, already knowing I would need something. I’ve seen lofts with larger cooking areas than this.” She waved her arm around, causing me to take notice of how small the room was—something I’d noticed earlier while she cooked.

  Two adjacent walls—one shorter, the other marginally longer with a pantry situated between them—created an L-shaped layout. While it might’ve been a popular design a couple of decades ago when the house had been built, it no longer seemed efficient or practical. She had less than four feet of countertop between the sink and stove, and if she got desperate, I assumed she could utilize the small, built-in desk to the right of the fridge. There was absolutely no room to work which left her with no option but to add an island in the middle of the room—and it likely had to be on wheels to roll easily when she needed more space.

  I worried I’d offend her by saying anything negative about her new home, so I kept it light. “Yeah, I see what you’re talking about. But at least the cart idea helps out some. Have you given any thought to making a few other improvements?”

  She raised her brows and held me with a pointed stare, one that insinuated I was crazy. “That would be a lot of improvements, Ash. Do you know how long it took me to save enough money for the closing costs and a decent down payment on this place? And if I do a little at a time, go room by room, I’ll be ninety before I get it all done…and by then, it’ll be outdated again.”

  I glanced around the parts of her home I could see from where I sat—which, was most of it, considering its size and open floorplan. For the most part, it seemed Kristy had successfully masked the age of the house—everywhere except the kitchen. Which meant it wouldn’t be as big of a project as she anticipated.

  “You don’t need to completely remodel it, Kristy. From what I can see, swapping out a few light fixtures, replacing the windowsills, and maybe some decorative accents here and there would be enough to modernize most of the house. As for the kitchen, refacing the cabinets and getting new appliances would help the look of it, and if you wanted more counter space, just take out that useless desk and put something there.”

  She rolled her eyes and hung the drying towel on the hook below the sink. “You’re full of ideas, aren’t you?”

  “What’s wrong with what I said?”

  “Oh, only how much all that will cost. I think you greatly underestimate how tight my budget is. My ex had asked if I wanted to chip in on a car for Emma’s birthday, so I said yes and told him to let me know what the plan was. Next thing I know, he bought her a newer and nicer vehicle than mine and pretty much left me holding the bill.”

  I didn’t know the guy, but he sounded like an ass. “How’d he do that?”

  “Since I was getting ready to buy a house, he figured it made more sense if he wrote a check for half, and I handled the financing part. It’s been forever since I last purchased a car—I think the clunker in the garage is proof of that—so I didn’t think anything about it. It wasn’t until I was signing the paperwork that I realized just how much it would be each month. By that point, I couldn’t change my mind. He’d already shown it to Emma and set the groundwork for it to be my fault if she didn’t get it.”

  As much as I wanted
to comment on how big of a dick her ex was, I decided to leave it alone. It was none of my business, and after being in the middle of a nasty divorce, I knew all too well how one story could have various, conflicting versions. Instead, I returned the focus to what I could do to help.

  “In case you don’t remember, Kristy…I happen to do carpentry work in my garage. Which is right over there.” I pointed in the direction of my house, even though neither of us could see it from where we were. “I could even build you a nicer island—unless you’re partial to those curtains.”

  “Since it seems you don’t understand the issue, Ash…let me see if I can explain it better. Whether I get it from you or a store, it still takes money. Even at a discounted rate, it’s just not in my budget at the moment. Although, I appreciate the offer.”

  I pushed out of my seat and slowly stalked toward her. “I never said I’d charge you.”

  “I’m not entirely sure how you run your business, but in the real world, even if you didn’t bill me for your time, I would still have to pay for materials. And that can add up, especially if we’re talking about wood.”

  With each step in her direction, I became less and less confident I could get through this without giving in. I kept my arms at my sides to prevent touching her, and when I came to a stop less than twelve inches away, she tipped her chin and held my stare.

  “You don’t need to worry about the expenses, Kristy. And if we’re talking about wood, trust me, I have more than you can handle.”

  Her pupils dilated, the navy-blue taking over the bright bursts of gold until they were a smoldering green. Crimson marred her cheeks, and her once-heaving chest had gone still. And when she spoke, her breathy words dripped with lust. “Yeah, but you run a business, Ash. You have orders to fill. You don’t have time to waste…playing with your wood.”