Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Do you want to help me make s’mores?” I hold out a marshmallow fork to Leon. He stares at it blankly.
“I’ve never made them before. But believe it or not, I’m actually quite adept at following directions.”
My parents say nothing, which is good on them. I think they’re content to just watch and observe us. And my god, I hope they’re not thinking about what we may or may not have done in the bedroom, as Leon said earlier. There had better not be speculation as they drive home in a few hours. I wilt a little inside just thinking about it.
And now my poor, aching, bruised heart takes another pounding. Of course, Leon has never made s’mores before. He never got a freaking childhood. I’m careful not to let my emotions show. I don’t want to continue being a bleeding heart around him because he would hate himself if he knew how sad I felt. He wants my pity even less.
“You just toast the marshmallows to perfection, get the graham crackers and chocolate, and make a sandwich out of it. The marshmallows are warm, so they make the chocolate melt. I know you don’t like sweets, but they’re pretty good. You can have a bite of mine if you want.”
“And a big cup of coffee to go with it.”
“You love coffee way too much.”
“You brought the beans I like. I can’t help myself.”
“If you want to go make a pot, I can toast the marshmallows.”
Leon studies me hard for a second. “Okay.” He gets up from the plastic lawn chair and walks back to the cabin. I try very hard not to watch him as he walks because it’s inevitably going to end up with my eyes tracking straight to his delicious rump in his jeans.
I set up the marshmallows on the forks, skewering the fluffy goodness on the metal tines. I’m a pro, so I load up six marshmallows per fork, but they have three tines, so I can handle it. The fire isn’t roaring anymore since we’ve been out here for almost an hour, sitting around it in lawn chairs, saying nothing, for the most part, just enjoying the quiet of a night not spent in the city. The wood has burned down to glowing red coals, and I carefully angle both forks over it, using one per hand.
“You’re going to light it on fire,” my dad warns.
“Not a chance.” It’s not bravado. I’m a pro at this, and I know it.
I take my time. So long that Leon is back with a pot of coffee, a jar of cream, and four mugs looped around his fingers. He sets everything down on the grass and stands back a few paces, but I can feel him like he’s pressed right up against my back. How is it possible to miss someone for a few minutes when they’re right inside the freaking cabin that’s not even thirty feet away?
My heart flutters madly.
And I burn the marshmallows. “Holy poo pants!” I let out a yelp as all twelve of them go up in flames. I wave the forks madly, and I’m lucky that nothing goes launching off of them. In my favor, I had them just about perfectly toasted.
“I think we can skip the chocolate,” my dad says. “And the cookies. Just give me some of those perfectly burned marshmallows.”
“Your diet!” My mom complains, swatting his arm, but when I hand four to my dad, she doesn’t stop him. She takes three herself, sliding them off the fork.
I move to Leon, who is sitting back down in the lawn chair, a cup of freshly poured coffee, golden with cream, between his knees. It’s sinful how beautiful he looks in the firelight. Like it should actually be illegal because it’s so unfair to my lady bits. I’m shaking before I take half a step toward him. I’m just glad my parents can’t see my face and the longing stamped onto it like a brand. The firelight is kind to Leon even though he doesn’t need any more physical beauty as it is. Nature created him off-the-charts beautiful, but the firelight is working wonders that make my mouth bone dry.
“Marshmallow?” I raise a brow while trying not to cry over his sheer chiseled, golden firelight illuminated, godly wonder. “They might look burned on the outside, but the middle parts are gooey and warm and delicious.”
“Alright. If you say that they’re good.”
I realize I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do, but nothing is going to stop me. I slide a marshmallow off the fork, but instead of handing it over, I edge closer and bring it to Leon’s mouth. His lips part for me, and since the marshmallow is gooey and melting all over my fingers, he makes quick work of it, which means he takes my fingers into his mouth. His tongue strokes over them, and he can’t keep a sound of pleasure from escaping him. I quickly jerk my hand back even though I want to keep it in his mouth forever. I nearly die on the spot.