Page 34 of Small Town, Big Storm
Second, that’s aninsanething to think.
“My teammate’s wives and daughters,” he says softly, pausing at the top of the stairs, those stupid eyes on mine again.
“What?”
“I know about women and their ideas because of my teammates’ wives and daughters.”
Something slides through my chest, and I freeze, teetering slightly on the step.
Suddenly, Storm is there, his hand wrapping around the top of my arm.“Easy,” he murmurs.
My pulse speeds, my body hyperaware of his touch…and making a desperate plea for me to lean closer, to get a little more contact.
No.To getallthe contact.
Dumb.So freakingdumb.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, tugging my arm free.
“When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”he asks, stroking his thumb lightly beneath one of my eyes.
That rage slides forward, threatens to burst free.
About seven fucking years ago, asshole, I want to say.
The night before you walked away from us.
“I’m fine,” I say again, this time brusquely.“Let’s get inside before the ice cream melts.”
And as I snag the container and go into the apartment, I do it wondering if I’m more like Uncle Sully than I previously realized.
Because I think he had the right of it.
All these feelings are too damned complicated.
“No, no,”Storm says.“Likethis, pipsqueak.”
“I’m not a pipsqueak!”
I bite back a smile from the sink where I’ve been relegated to dish duty.
Because—no surprise—I’m not good at making homemade pasta.
But Iama deft hand at washing the copious amounts of dishes that making homemade pasta generates.
“Do you even know what a pipsqueak is?”Storm asks as he gently guides Holly’s hands through the egg yolks in the middle of the pile of flour.
“Yeah,” she says, stirring a bit too hard and sending the yolks down the side of the well.
He quickly fixes it.“Yeah?”he says.“Then what is it?”
“A pip—” She mixes with a little more vigor, sending flour and yoke onto the counter…and onto Storm.
Who is completely unbothered.
And I feel that deep inside me too.
He’s had one hour of being a parent.
