Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

It does today. It feels perfect.

“What are you fixing?” I ask.

“I’m frying chicken just for you because you guilted me for having Lance over the other night. And I’m making a cheeseball, and I’d hate for Peck to have all of it.”

“Are you bribing me with food?”

“Of course. I’m a grandmother. It’s what we do.”

“You do it well.”

I know she’s smiling on the other end. I can hear it in the way she smacks her lips together in satisfaction. “We’ll eat around three o’clock. If I know you’re coming, I’ll make you a butterscotch pie.”

“I’ll be there if I can bring home leftovers,” I tease.

“You’ll have to fight Walker for the chicken.”

“That I look forward to,” I say, getting to my feet. “I always love a Nana-approved duel with Walker.”

“I meant that figuratively. Don’t go getting him in one of those head-lock things in my dining room, or I’ll kick your behind.”

My phone buzzes, indicating the battery is dying. I pull it away from my face to see I have less than ten percent left. “I gotta go because my phone is dying, and you know, I need to entertain my company.”

“Oh, dear. Goodbye.”

Laughing, I head to the other side of the bed. “Bye, Nana.”

I fish my charger out from behind the bedside table and plug it in. Setting it beside the lamp, I spin around but stop when I see Hadley’s bag on the chair in the corner.

Her shorts are sitting on top of the closed bag as though she tossed them there as a side note. If someone walked into this room right now, they’d think that gym bag was supposed to be there. I kind of feel that way too.

Scratching my head, I walk into the hallway and hear music playing softly. Sunshine pours in from the windows.

Walking as lightly as I can, I pause in the doorway. She’s buttering toast over the sink. Crumbs falls into the basin as she rakes the knife along the bread. The movement slow as she looks through the window with a thoughtful gaze.

Her hair is a wild mess piled on top of her head, and she’s changed into a pair of my sweatpants. They’re two sizes two big and nearly fall off her waist, but I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight in my life.

Hadley in my clothes in my kitchen. Happy.

“Hey,” I say before I can get in my head too deep. I ignore the way my chest feels like it’s going to burst and open the refrigerator. I don’t need anything, but maybe it’ll cool me down.

The corners of her lips turn up before she looks over her shoulder. There’s a hint of trepidation there. “I made breakfast.”

Overriding my natural reaction to walk across the room and plant a kiss on her lips, I shut the refrigerator door. “What can I do to help?”

“Don’t die when you eat the bacon.” She makes a face. “The expiration date was last week, but it smelled fine.”

“Shit. I don’t even know when I bought that.”

“Or half the things in the refrigerator,” she mumbles. “Seriously. I threw away a bunch of crap this morning.”

“What did you throw away?” I say, letting my jaw fall open just to rile her up.

“Nothing you’ll ever need or it wouldn’t have been expired.”

“You don’t know what I need.”

She walks toward me, an arch to her lips. She reaches right in front of me, almost brushing against me but not quite, and pulls out two plates. “Oh, I think I do know what you need.”

My breathing stops as I adjust to her proximity. I’m suddenly very, very awake.

The sweetness of her skin drifts around me, luring me to touch her. The pout of her lips begs for a kiss, the sliver of skin between the hem of her shirt and the top of my sweatpants taunting to be gripped.

My eyes narrow as I squelch the reaction I want to make. “Humor me. What do you think I need?”

She falls back on her feet slowly. It’s clear she didn’t anticipate this question and is unprepared to give me an answer. I’m not sure what kind of an answer to expect, either, and I’m not sure why in the hell I asked that this early.

Turning away, she begins to fill one of the plates. “This morning, you need four strips of bacon, two eggs over medium, and two slices of toast.”

“Over medium, huh?”

“I know you like over easy, but I overcooked them because I dropped a jar of mayonnaise that expired last year.” She shoots me a look. “Last. Year.”

“Good thing I like them over medium these days, huh?”

She nods. “Good thing.”

“I also like coffee,” I say, walking away before I get too comfortable watching her move around my kitchen. “You want some?”

“Yes, please.”

We work silently, me making coffee and her getting the food to the table. Every now and then, we catch each other’s eye and smile or sort of softly laugh at nothing in particular. It’s weird sharing the space with her but so damn amazing at the same time. It has all the hallmarks I love about Nana’s Sunday dinners but at home. With Hadley.