Still. That mouth had kissed mine. My face remembered it and leaned in for a reunion.
Then Lachlan leaned. His hands reached for me again and—
“Oh, Olivia, sugar!” My grandmother’s voice broke through the heady fog billowing behind my eyes, and in one turn of a page, she peeked into the office. “There you two are. I hate to break up this lovefest, but Frannie has wrapped up her theatrical interpretation, and if you don’t come back and help the discussion, I fear dear Fran will pick another selection.”
What I wanted was to shut the door and get kissed senseless by my husband. But my grandmother wouldn’t leave us alone until I returned to book club. “I’ll be right there.”
I escorted Lachlan back to the front of the shop. If I walked a little closer to him than usual, it was simply the fatigue. And if I looked up at his face and took in that profile more than once, it was just for the sake of our audience.
I opened the door, and Lachlan stepped outside into the night. And didn’t he look like the most desirable hero with the wind in his hair and the stars twinkling in the inky sky above?
He’d only taken two steps when he turned back around. “Olivia?”
When had I grown to love what the evening hours did to that voice? “Yes?”
Lachlan’s hand went to my cheek, and he pressed a soft, lingering kiss against my lips. “I don’t want to take it back.”
ChapterThirty-Nine
LACHLAN
Dearest husband,
For your birthday, I’ve decided to be nice to you.
Don’t get used to it.
Meet me back here at five.
If you’re game.
Love,
Your favorite wife
On Monday nightI reread the note from Olivia and smiled. I’d found it on the kitchen counter this morning, right by the coffeepot. While that was a nice surprise, the greater shock was Olivia standing at the stove, spatula in hand, her bottom lip captured between her teeth.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making pancakes.” She slid two onto a plate, where five more formed a leaning tower. “Do you have time to eat breakfast?”
WasDungeons & Dragonsthe best RPG ever created? Did Mario burn for Princess Peach? “I always have time for pancakes.”
Olivia wore her hair up, and tendrils framed her face. She rose on tiptoe in those hot pink heels I loved and pulled two more plates from the cabinet. “Grab your coffee and sit.”
Was this a dream? Surely Olivia Sutton was not only cooking, but cooking forme? “What’s going on here?” I asked. “Should I trust you at the stove?”
“Happy birthday, Lachlan.” She set down a plate of steaming pancakes at my usual spot at the island, then went back to fill her own plate.
“You’re eating with me?” I checked the clock on the microwave. “You’re usually at work by now.”
Olivia shrugged and served us each two slices of bacon. Then she climbed onto the stool right beside me, her leg pressed against mine. “Work can wait.”
A feeling settled in my chest, one I tucked away to unfold and examine later.
My wife picked up her fork and cut one small bite of pancake. Like a desperate man, I watched that bite slip between her lips and disappear.
“In my family,” she said, “we have a tradition of a big breakfast on birthdays. And normally since it’s your day, you’d get to pick what you want to eat.” Her mouth bare of lipstick lifted in an uncertain smile. “I didn’t know what you preferred, so I just went with pancakes.”
