The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,134

. .?” I take her hand as a slow, uncertain smile spreads across my face. I hope she hasn’t just embarrassed him by mentioning some girl from his past. I am a city girl, but Andrew hasn’t even opened up to Sadie about us. “Um, I’m not—I don’t think he’s talking about—”

“She is,” Andrew says, seemingly amused by my mumbling. “This is her. Amelia, meet Flora. How’d Bell do tonight?”

“Fine, fine.” Flora doesn’t spare Andrew a glance as she puts her other hand over mine. “It is so, so lovely to meet you. We all adore Andrew and want to see him happy.”

Andrew glares at her. “Flora. Maybe you’re jumping the gun a bit?”

She releases me and picks up a sweater off the back of the couch. She places it over her shoulders. “I hope not, dear. I really hope not.”

“I’m staying in the guest room,” I blurt. They both look at me, and my cheeks burn. “It’s just—” I start. “I don’t want you to think . . . with Bell, I’m not trying to—”

Flora chuckles. “Stay wherever you like,” she says. “Personally, I think it’s a waste to dirty two sets of sheets.” She leans in toward me. “If you only knew what I’d give up to spend a night next to a man like this.”

“Oh, God.” Andrew runs both hands through his hair and turns his back to us. “This is not happening.”

“I’ll be back in the morning to start the cake,” Flora sings, patting her purse at her side.

“Actually,” Andrew says, turning back, a wary look etched on his face, “I thought Amelia could make it.”

I gape. “Me? I can’t—I’ve never . . . I . . . don’t . . . bake.”

He chuckles in a most irritating way. Flora joins in, to my dismay. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she agrees.

“It’s not.” I give Flora a serious look. “I’m a terrible baker. Absolutely awful. The last time I made muffins, they were gluten-free and vegan. My assistant gagged, spit one out, and eventually went home for the day.”

“Vegan?” Andrew exclaims. “Never mind. You don’t have to bake.”

I plead with Flora. “It would be so great if you could just—”

She shakes her head. “You’ll do fine, honey. Just make it with love, and it’ll turn out great.”

Make it with love. That doesn’t really help. I’d prefer a more concrete tip, like using buttermilk or cage-free eggs. “Maybe you could come early and help me?” I ask.

She looks at Andrew. They exchange a smile, as if they’re in on a private joke. I’m pretty sure I’m that joke.

“I think that would be fine,” she says. “Everything’s already in the fridge. I’ll swing by around ten, and we’ll do it together.”

I sigh with relief. “Thank you.”

Andrew leans in and kisses her on the cheek. “Thanks, Flora. For tonight and tomorrow. You’re a huge help.”

“It’s no trouble. Goodnight, you two.”

Andrew closes the door after her and locks it. He turns to me and rolls his eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“It was sweet. Is she a friend of your mom’s?”

“She’s Pico’s mom.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” I pause. “What’s a Pico?”

“A guy who works for me. A friend.” He grins. “We still have quite a bit to learn about each other, don’t we?”

I nod. That’s one way to kill the mood—a stark reminder that we’re about to embark on something huge while we’re still strangers in a lot of ways. “I probably shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

“Really?” He closes the distance between us and lifts my chin with his knuckle. “You sure? I was just thinking the opposite. I’m glad you’re here.”

“It’s not too soon?”

“To sleep in my guest room?” He winks. “Come on.”

As he leads me through the house, I finally get a look around. It’s a good size, much more spacious than my apartment, which is big by New York standards. Like the exterior, the decor is traditional but with modern updates such as hardwood floors, clean lines, and—to my delight—an exposed-brick fireplace.

He notices my gaze. “It’s a little warm tonight,” he teases. “Let’s give it a few months.”

A few months. With Andrew. Glee wells up my chest. “Can I get a tour?” I ask.

“Not much to see,” he says. “I’ll get us a drink. Make yourself at home.”

He may believe there isn’t much to see, but to me, it’s like opening the second volume of his life. When he leaves, I stand in place and look everywhere I can. There isn’t more than necessary in the room—a wood coffee table