Good With His Hands (Good in Bed #1)- Lauren Blakely Page 0,27
at my face. “Your eyes melted in the center.”
“Um, yeah, it’s really good,” I say, nodding as I reach for another sample and push thoughts of Jesse from my head.
Must concentrate on yummy chocolate, not yummy men.
“I’m so glad you love sweets as much as I do,” Mom says, her hazel eyes twinkling as bright as her eyeshadow. “Sweetie Pies is going to be in good hands when you take over.”
My chest twinges, a strange sensation. It’s not the first time she’s said something like that. She issues variations on the theme all the time.
But something about it feels off . . . like a pair of pants that don’t quite fit.
And I’m not sure why.
Maybe the pants just need a belt. Or to be let out a little, if I keep eating chocolate for breakfast.
That has to be it.
“Sweets are the best,” I say with a smile, then I pop another square of chocolate in my mouth and let the flavor smooth over the moment of discomfort.
Mom finally settles on a dark chocolate with hints of caramel and coconut that’s going to be insanely delicious in her German chocolate cream pie. We thank the clerk and head out into the morning air.
On the way back to my parents’ place, we pass Sweetie Pies; Mom waves to the empty shop and coos, “See you soon, darling.”
“You’re an oddball. You know that, right?”
She elbows me in the side and whispers, “Wave at her, so she knows you miss her too.”
Laughing, I wave at the store. It will always have a soft spot in my heart. Like home.
When we reach my parents’ brownstone, Mom thanks me for joining her and gives me a big hug. “So good to see you, my sweetie pie.”
Her embrace warms my heart. Always has.
I’m so lucky to have her. I know enough mothers and daughters to realize what we have is special. My mother has always made me feel so loved and supported, ever since I was a little girl.
As we pull apart and I head across the park to my place, her hug stays with me, a warm glow that follows me even when we’re apart.
It gives me an idea for number four on the list.
Last night I figured out what ugly thing I wanted to make beautiful, but I wasn’t sure exactly how I wanted to go about it until now.
Inside my apartment, I jot down some quick thoughts, my throat tightening, my heart clutching. But this feels right, and I’m excited to share the idea with Jesse.
I put on my painting clothes, check the time. I have an hour before I need to leave to meet my partner in crime.
Maybe my partner in something sexier than crime if things work out the way I hope they will.
I let my thoughts return to Jesse and his kiss and all the sizzling things he made me feel. Surely, benefits won’t ruin our friendship.
Besides, it took more than six months to reach the outer limits of the “falling for you” zone with Brian, and we never did really get there. And Chad, in three months, didn’t even come close.
There’s no way I’ll get in deep with Jesse in two weeks.
Inspired, I grab my idea notebook from my desk and write I would very much like to get naked with you at your earliest convenience, and smile.
If I hurry, I might have time to paint a mockup of the card before I leave to meet Jesse in SoHo.
11
Jesse
To sex or not to sex—that is the question.
I like to ponder these sorts of deep issues during a hard, sweaty run.
Letting the to-dos and the to-don’ts roll through my head as I pound the path around the park.
Friends-with-benefits sounds good in theory.
But does it work in reality?
Normally, I’d marinate on the possibilities as I ran the Prospect Park loop a couple of times while listening to one of those true-crime podcasts that make me consider becoming a detective if the whole “body shop” thing peters out someday. I like puzzles and shutting down bad guys. Or I think I would.
But today is Sunday, so I’m running with Max, who’s pushing Penny in her jog-friendly stroller while the genius two-year-old demonstrates—over and over again—that she can count to twenty.
I am not thinking about sex.
At all.
Penny makes it to ten, adds a hurrah, then scurries through the next few numbers, skipping fourteen. Also, seventeen.
“All done and no bad numbers,” she says in a singsong voice as Max pushes her beside me.