Page 59 of Not a Strong Enough Word

“Pretty sure the saying is about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach,” I reply, shifting so I can see her from my kitchen.

“Same biology,” she says distractedly, not moving her eyes away from the screen. She taps her lips rapidly with her middle and pointer fingers. Her eyes narrow, then she starts typing again.

I come up behind her and lean down so I can wrap my arms around her shoulders. “Hey, beautiful. Come eat.”

Her typing doesn’t stop, and I watch as the words fire across the screen. “Almost done.” Her voice is vacant, as if she’s responding on autopilot. Scarlett has left the building, and in her place is a one-woman writing machine.

The urge to kiss her is strong, so I plant one on her temple. Not moving my arms from around her, I pull back enough to watch her. Those blue eyes trail along the monitor like one of those bouncy balls illuminating words on a children’s sing-along video. She’s not paying attention to me in the least. So, I wait.

There’s a moment—one breath, that’s all—when Casey’s warning plays in the back of my mind. What if she dives in again and I’m not enough to pull her back out?

But her rhythmic typing becomes erratic, then stops altogether. She rolls her eyes and smiles to herself. “You’re staring at me like a creep.”

“A creep with food,” I counter, meeting her grin with one of my own.

She lets out a sigh, but it sounds like it’s more for show than out of irritation. “You said mac and cheese?” Her voice is bright. Scarlett is back in the building. There is no crisis here.

“Oh, so you were listening,” I tease.

She turns her face to mine, and my lips buzz at our proximity. But she winks before I can act. “I always listen when you talk about cheese.”

“Noted.” I do kiss her then, because I can’t stay away. She’s so brilliant, so beautiful. And she’s mine. I won’t waste another moment not kissing her when I could be. Not again.

Scarlett moans softly, circling her arms around my neck. I angle my head to kiss her more deeply, teasing at her lips with my tongue. She gives me entry easily. Without separating myself from her, I fumble around with my hand to close her laptop.

Chuckling, she pulls away and rubs her nose against mine. “Message received.”

I don’t know if I’ll always be enough to pull her out of her work, but my heart soars with the knowledge that I am now. Keep things manageable—I can do that.

She kisses me again quickly, then stands and makes her way to the kitchen. “Cheese first, then dessert.”

I follow her out of the bedroom, adjusting myself as I walk. “I didn’t get dessert.”

Flashing me a devious smile, she retrieves a fork from the drawer and opens a container. “Not what I meant.”

I just about tear my clothes and hers off right then and there, but I restrain myself. This woman is going to be the end of me, and now that she’s back in my life, I’m going to enjoy every delicious moment.

Chapter 27

Scarlett

The next week is a whirlwind of Ryan, edits, writing, publicity emails, rinse, and repeat.

The draft for my cover comes in, and I have to check the calendar to make sure it’s not April first, because there’s no way it’s not a joke. It’s just a blue bicycle on a black background with BECOMING in big, bold letters at the top and S.J. FALMOUTH in smaller, bold letters at the bottom. Before my brain can even process the email, my phone rings. It’s Trina, thank god.

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” I say by way of greeting.

“It’s not good.”

“‘Not good’ is an understatement,” I correct her. “Please tell me this is concept art and not the real thing.”

Trina makes a little ehh noise that tells me I’m not going to like what she’s about to say. “They labeled this as final.”

“The bike in the book isn’t even blue! You cannot possibly be serious.”

“Listen, this is your boyfriend’s doing, not mine. He’s the one who handed the info off to design.”

She keeps talking, but my mind snags on the word boyfriend. Is he my boyfriend? Do I want him to be? We’ve been spending time together, but we haven’t been together again that long. Or do we count the time before? Between? Never mind that it’s been the week of my life, with publishing updates and Ryan almost finished with this round of edits and him coming here or me going to his place most nights to read and talk and touch like we’ve both been starving without one another.