After the Climb (River Rain #1) - Kristen Ashley Page 0,64
girl, Bowie.”
“I’ll let you go then. But Gen?”
“Yes?”
“It wasn’t our time before. This is our time. Don’t let outside shit fuck with your head. We’re us. We always connect. We’ve got this.”
“You’re right, darling.”
“I am, baby. Now go. See you in a few hours.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up and I instantly thought of Tom.
Perhaps his jealous spate had not subsided.
He would feel no joy if Team Tom won out.
Because he’d know Duncan was the true winner.
And Tom had held up a number of shiny trophies to the cheering crowds.
So he was an excellent competitor.
And a very sore loser.
Chapter Twelve
The Meal
Duncan
Duncan probably broke a record, by a long shot, getting out of his car and hauling his ass to the door to the kitchen after he’d pulled into his garage and saw Genny’s Cayenne there.
Clearly, Bettina had seen to things as he’d asked, giving her a remote.
He’d also instructed she give Genny a set of keys.
He doubted she failed in this endeavor.
He walked in and was accosted by dogs.
And the smell of garlic.
Last, his first vision of Genny, his old Genny, from back in the day, standing at his range.
Bare feet. Jeans. And a River Rain tee Chloe had stolen and given her to wear riding so she didn’t sweat on her fancy duds.
She’d changed when she came to meet him for lunch but had admitted then that her daughter had light fingers.
He’d told her he’d already learned that, and he didn’t care.
It was too big on her and she’d knotted it at the waist.
She looked amazing in it.
“I hope you don’t mind, but you told me it was an old one, and you could always get more, and sauce splashes—”
She had not missed his eyes on her tee.
She also didn’t finish what she said.
Because it was hard to talk when your man was squeezing the breath out of you and had his tongue down your throat.
When he broke their kiss, she stared fuzzily up at him and muttered, “I thought it was the little woman’s job to welcome the man home like that.”
“I’m enlightened. Totally equal opportunity when it comes to kissing you fuzzy.”
“Fuzzy?”
“Baby, you can’t even focus.”
“I can see you clearly, Bowie.”
To make her laugh, but only for that, he took one arm from around her and held three fingers in front of her face.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
She took her arms from around his neck, pushed her hands between them, gave him a weak, totally-didn’t-mean-it shove, and said, “Shut up, Bowie.”
But she did it laughing.
He gave her a grin, a quick kiss, let her go and looked to the stove.
Genny’s meatballs and red sauce.
Fucking hell.
He could almost convince himself he missed that more than he missed her.
Okay, not almost.
Not even close.
But he loved her spaghetti and meatballs.
Marilyn, Gen’s mom, was a dame, but Marilyn’s mom was Italian, and she’d taught Marilyn to cook.
As well as Genny.
Her meatballs were works of art.
And her baked ziti should have its own religion.
Thinking of Marilyn, and smelling his kitchen, and having Genny in it, cooking, Duncan couldn’t stop himself chuckling.
“What’s funny now?” she asked.
He grabbed the wooden spoon sitting on the spoon rest and looked at her.
“I was thinking of your mom. When we were hanging out on your back porch, and I wondered out loud how you got that blonde hair and those blue eyes, when your mom is dark and half Italian, and her answer was, ‘My husband has superior sperm.’”
Genny giggled and leaned a hip against the counter. “God, I remember that. I was so embarrassed.”
“You were only sixteen. At sixteen, boy or girl, no one wants to think their dad has sperm.”
She snatched up a towel and slapped it against his arm, stating, “I still don’t want to think of it, Bowie.”
He shot her another grin and dipped the wooden spoon in the huge vat (Gen never skimped when she made her red sauce, but that made it better, because if, within a few days, a miracle had occurred and it wasn’t eaten, it went into the freezer to provide future good times).
He brought the spoon to his lips, blew on it and then tasted.
Fucking heaven.
“Does it pass inspection?” she asked.
“Can we eat now?” he asked back.
She looked horrified. “We have at least twenty more minutes of simmering.”
“Sorry, out of practice,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes.
Now there…
That she gave to Chloe.
“You need to greet your dogs and give Cookie your stamp of approval,” she ordered.
He bent to the animals gathered around his legs to