The Reality of Everything - Rebecca Yarros Page 0,49
a small, perfect conch shell.
“Ooh! It’s so pretty!” Fin leaned in close, examining the shell.
“It’s yours,” Morgan said as she handed it over.
“Really? It’s almost perfect.”
Ah, and so the search continued.
“That’s exactly what I thought when I saw it!”
Fin grabbed Morgan’s still-outstretched hand and examined her fingernails. “Can you braid?”
Morgan blinked at the subject change, but then nodded. “I can.”
“Will you braid my hair?” Fin asked, using those eyes on Morgan to get her way. “I have kindergarten tonight.”
Oh shit. That tightness in my chest was back, flaring in a fierce surge of emotion I had no right to feel. Finley liked Morgan. She trusted her, which only made my attraction to her increase exponentially.
Morgan’s soft brown eyes found mine in silent question, and I gave her a slight nod.
“If you want me to, I can,” Morgan replied.
“Yay! I’ll get my stuff.” Clutching her new prize, Finley raced off to her room, leaving us standing in the entry hall.
“Thanks. She never lets me braid it. Mostly because every time I try, it comes out lopsided and not very braid-like,” I remarked, struggling for something to say that wouldn’t come out hey-I-really-like-you-any-chance-you-might-feel-the-same.
Because I wasn’t fourteen.
And the woman still doesn’t know what you do for a living, jackass.
“No problem. I’m happy to do it.”
I walked her into the kitchen and offered her a drink.
“No thanks, I’m good.” She braced her hands on the granite and boosted her ass into the same spot I’d put her when I’d patched her up weeks ago.
If Sam hadn’t walked in, I would have—
“So, kindergarten, huh?”
“It’s just orientation for next year, but it crept up on me, that’s for sure.”
“She’ll do great.”
Fuck me. She crossed her legs and shifted forward slightly, leaning on her palms. Maybe it was the months of celibacy, but my body took more than enough notice of her. Shit, when was the last time I got laid? Not since Morgan arrived, that was for sure. Not for lack of opportunity but because I didn’t want anyone else.
Holy shit. I don’t want anyone else.
So what the hell did that mean? Did I want a date with this woman? A night in her bed? An actual relationship? Yes to all.
She took a deep breath, causing her breasts to rise against her neckline, and I turned back to the refrigerator, popped the top of one of those antioxidant drinks Finley liked because they were pink, and chugged the whole thing.
“Thirsty?” Morgan teased.
You have no fucking idea.
“You could definitely say that.” I turned slowly, and from the way her eyes widened, I was doing a piss-poor job of keeping my thoughts off my face.
Only a few feet separated us. A heartbeat—maybe two—and I could be standing between her knees, her face in my hands, my tongue finally tasting the curve of her mouth.
As if she could read my thoughts, her lips parted, and the air crackled for all the potential electricity lingering between us.
“Got it!” Fin called out, skidding to a halt in front of Morgan with a tackle box full of hair-care products.
Morgan blinked rapidly and turned to Fin. “Okay! Let’s get you started!”
A few minutes later, Morgan had Fin on the floor in front of her as she sat on the love seat. She listened with rapt attention as Finley told her all about the great kindergarten backpack debate.
I watched from the couch, trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do about wanting this woman. Hell, I hadn’t been on a second date since Claire. Hadn’t really been on a date at all.
“What if I get hungry?” Finley asked as Morgan sprayed product into her curls. It was the first time I’d heard her voice concern over going to school.
“There’s lunch time and snack time,” Morgan told her, brushing through Finley’s curls with ease. “And if you’re super hungry, just tell your teacher.”
“What if no one likes my backpack?” she asked quietly, and it took everything in my power not to answer her, because she hadn’t asked me.
“Then that’s their problem,” Morgan stated simply.
I blinked. My first impulse had been to say that everyone would love her backpack, but Morgan’s answer was way better.
Morgan threaded Fin’s curls through her fingers and wove a braid around her head.
What the hell kind of sorcery was that?
“What if they don’t like me?” Fin’s voice dropped even softer.
I leaned forward, and Morgan shot me a look that warned against speaking. My eyebrows lifted, but I stayed silent.