All the Way (Romancing Manhattan 1)

Yes, the attraction is absolutely there.

“Good morning.”

“Hi,” she says. “How was your run?”

“Good, actually.” I stop and prop my hands on my hips, breathing hard. “How are you?”

“Not half bad.” She brushes her hair off of her face. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Nope.”

“I was just about to make some. Would you like to join me?”

“Yep.” I smile and lean in to press a quick kiss to her lips. “Let me run home real quick to clean up and I’ll be right over.”

“Sounds great. See you in a few.”

I kiss her once again, then jog into the house and open the fridge for a bottle of water.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Mom says. “I’ve made waffles for all of us.”

“I’m eating breakfast with London today,” I inform her, and smile when Gabby claps her hands in happiness.

“Is this the neighbor girl?” Mom asks.

“I don’t know any other Londons,” I reply, and kiss her cheek. “Sorry to bail on you.”

“Oh, please, we’re just fine here without you, aren’t we, darling girl?”

“We’re totally fine,” Gabby agrees, and gives me a thumbs-up.

My ten-year-old niece approves of London.

Now I just have to call my brothers and explain why I’m extending my vacation and bailing on work for a few more weeks.

Chapter Four

~London~

He presses his lips to mine quickly, smiles, and jogs off toward his house and I can only stand where I am, my fingers pressed to my lips, and watch his ass as he leaves.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say I had a crush on the sexy Finn Cavanaugh.

Strike that. I do have a crush on Finn. What’s not to like? He’s kind, funny, loves his family, and looks like that.

So I’m going to spend as much time as I can with him, since he’s been the best thing to come into my life since the fire, since the day in his office with my brother, since trying to heal from it all.

He brings a smile to my face and makes me want to climb him like a damn tree, and that’s a good feeling.

I take a deep breath and, with a smile, walk into the house to get breakfast started. I had planned to just have a bagel and some egg whites, but now that’s changed up a bit. I love to cook, especially for others, so I pull my hair up in a messy bun and stand in the middle of my white kitchen, getting my wits about me.

I could make omelets, or pancakes, or biscuits and gravy.

I buy way too many groceries.

I smirk at myself and decide on biscuits and gravy with home fries and scrambled eggs. It’s a heavy breakfast, but it’s also delicious, and I want to feed him something especially delicious.

“Like me,” I mutter, and then laugh. Oh, the dreams I’ve been having about Finn the past few nights have been one hundred percent pornographic. I wake up hot and bothered, and not just a little sexually frustrated.

Damn him.

I jump at the soft knock on the back glass door, and turn to find Finn standing there in another pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt, his hair wet from a shower, grinning at me through the glass.

Hot damn.

I motion for him to come in, and stir the biscuit batter.

“I hope you worked up an appetite on that run,” I begin as he walks toward me. “I’m making a feast.”

“I’m hungry,” he says in a gruff voice, making me glance up at him. He’s staring at me with hot eyes. Not just hot. Scorching. Like he wants to do me on the kitchen counter.

I’m not against that in the least.

“Hungry for biscuits and gravy?” I swallow hard.

“We can start there,” he says. “You’re making it from scratch?”

“Of course.” I set the batter aside and gather more supplies. “Isn’t that how everyone does it?”

“No, I buy those biscuits in the roll that always scares the shit out of me when I bust it open.”

I chuckle as I roll the dough out and cut it into circles. “Well, no scaring the shit out of you today. These don’t take long.”

“Do you need any help?”

“Nope.” I pop the pan in the oven and get started on cutting potatoes. “Actually, yes. How are you at cutting potatoes?”

“I’m a champion potato chopper,” he informs me, and takes the knife from me. “I’ve got this.”

“Do you like to cook?” I try to keep my eyes off of his strong hands and muscly forearms as he chops up the potatoes. Why is it that everything he does is sexy?

It’s not exactly fair.

“I do,” he replies. “I just don’t always have time for it.”

“I don’t either, but it seems I have nothing but time lately.” I shrug and throw the potatoes in a pan so they can start frying while I get the gravy going. “I’ve been cooking way more than I can eat.”