Falling into Forever - Delancey Stewart Page 0,40

at The Shack in Singletree with Michael Tucker, eating fried clams out of a bucket today, I wouldn’t have believed you. Partly because my life was all planned out already, and there was no room in it for my tiny hometown, and certainly not for anyone named Tucker, no matter how handsome he looked with his dark red hair glinting under the glowing lights of the bar. But the other reason I would have said this was impossible was because I was in the middle of an eight-year-long delusion that involved my long-time boyfriend finally sacking up and proposing. It involved kids and a bigger apartment and some form of happily ever after.

But now, I was here. In a place where food was served in a bucket.

“I didn’t miss the Old Bay,” I confided, holding yet another fried clam before my lips.

“Doesn’t seem to be putting you off these too much,” Michael observed, watching me devour another.

“I can handle it,” I told him. “Just wouldn’t be my first choice of spice blend, that’s all.”

“Do you have a first choice in spice blends?”

I had to think about that. “I mean . . . what are the choices, really? There’s Allspice, right?”

“Not great on clams probably.”

“Maybe not. There’s Italian.” I shrugged, knowing this one was a stretch.

“That’s a culture, not a spice blend.”

“You can buy a little bottle in the store that says ‘Italian Spice.’” When he just stared at me, I added, “I see that you are absorbing this new information.”

“No, I’m just sad.”

I dropped my latest clam onto my plate. “Sad? About Italian Spice?”

He shook his head, and though his face was a mask of disappointment, there was a little glint in those dark blue eyes that both told me he was kidding with me, and sent a little pulse of giddiness through my stomach. “I’m sad that you think that’s a valid spice blend.”

“Fine, what’s your favorite?” I asked him.

“I’m partial to Garam Masala,” he said, and I kicked myself, wishing I’d thought of that one. “But my all-time favorite? Cinnamon sugar.” He smiled as if he’d won some kind of contest.

“That’s not a blend. That’s just two spices that you’re naming.”

“And they are delicious together. Which makes them a blend.”

“Not.”

“I bet Lottie would agree with me.” He raised his eyebrows and gave me a smug smile before taking another sip of the Half Cat Whiskey he’d ordered.

“Do not bring my mother into this.” I took a sip of my beer and sat back into my chair. Despite the company and the weird train of conversation, I found myself relaxing in his company, enjoying it even.

“But you and your mom are close, right?”

“Like she’d give me any other choice.”

He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at me, and I had the oddest sensation as he did it. Michael Tucker was listening to me. Really listening. A warm wave of emotion passed over me. I liked it.

“Tell me about it,” he said. “About life with your mom and sisters.”

I considered giving him a flip response, turning off this line of questioning before it could really get rolling. But hadn’t I spent the last many years wishing Luke would really listen to me? Not that I was comparing Michael and Luke, not at all. Luke was my boyfriend—my lover. And Michael was . . . so handsome as he sat and waited patiently for me to respond. His squared jaw was stubbled with fine golden hairs and his forearm, where it rested on the tabletop next to his glass, was tanned and muscular. He didn’t have the same fine hands that Luke had—a musician’s hands—but Michael’s looked strong and capable. My mind began to picture those hands at work, and maybe in the shower. Without meaning to, I imagined what that big firm hand might look like wrapped around my breast, or his cock—

I nearly spit out the sip of beer I’d just taken as I realized where my mind had gone. I felt heat rise in my cheeks, and still, Michael just watched me with those penetrating eyes.

“Life with Lottie,” I started, trying to cover the very inappropriate thoughts I’d been having with zero provocation at all. “Well, I’m the oldest,” I said. “So that means all the parenting practice happened on me. When I was little and my dad was still around, things were good. They were strict, but it was good, I think. But after Dad died, and Mom was so sad for such

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