There’s a massive butcher’s block table in the middle with a dozen stools around it and to the side, a big fireplace with a cooking section. I can imagine Killian using it to make pizza.
“This is definitely the heart of this place,” I say. “I love it. Pizza oven? No wonder you bought this place.”
He reaches into the fridge and pulls out two bottles of water.
“Make you pizza tomorrow. From scratch.” He kisses my temple. “No pineapple,” he adds under his breath. “Fuckin’ abomination.”
“If loving pineapple on my pizza is wrong, I’ll never be right.” I shake my head robustly.
He snickers.
The teenager comes back, saying, “Last box,” after he deposits it on the butcher’s block. Killian reaches out and shakes his hand, handing him cash while he does it. “Much appreciated.”
“Thanks, man.” He eyeballs the cash in his hand and his eyes light up. “And I’m John. You think you need help with anything else? Here’s my number. You want me to come, cut your grass, do any handyman work, need anything dropped off, lemme know. I’m savin’ for college.” He pulls a business card from his back pocket and palms it to the counter and then smiles at me. “Have a good time, guys.”
“I’ll definitely be callin’ you, John,” Killian says. “In fact, I’ll walk you out.”
“Thank you,” I call out.
John waves and Killian heads out with him, saying, “Got a lot of shit to do here and will definitely be able to use some help.”
They’re gone, so I eyeball the supplies. There are a lot of them. A lot. I start unbagging a large selection of meat. Some of this will probably have to come back to Portland with us. We’re not going to be here more than a few days. Even though Shara said I can take up to a week working remotely, I don’t want to take the whole week, don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage. And I haven’t done anything yet today, so will be on my laptop soon trying to get some work done.
Killian is back.
“Way too much food here; we’re only here for a bit,” I say and then I open the fridge and see plenty of items already in there. I open the freezer and it, too, has supplies. It’s about half full with meat, frozen entrees, a half bottle of vodka.
“Um… what’s all this?”
“I spent the week here. The other week, when we were… uh…” He scratches his temple.
“Oh.” Realization dawns. When he wasn’t around that week. “You weren’t away on business?”
“I was giving you space. Giving me space, I…” His expression darkens, “malfunctioned. I took a couple days to reflect.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not malfunctioning now,” he says and pulls me into his arms. “Told Patricia to make sure there was a lot of apple juice.” He puts his lips to mine and his voice has gone husky.
“Apple juice?” I whisper against his mouth.
“Mm hm,” he says and then he lifts me up by the hips and sets me on the counter.
My belly flipflops.
“You shouldn’t be lifting me.”
This is a different countertop than the one he wanted to christen when he asked me to move in, but it still feels pretty poignant.
“Arms aren’t broken, Violet.”
“No, but…”
“I know my limits, baby, I like that you’re worried about me, though. So, hey…” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear with his fingertips and I shiver. He smiles, looking like he likes that reaction. “I got a call from my doctor’s office after I saw John to his truck. My STD test came back clear.”
I smile. “I’ve gotta call my doctor and follow up.”
He leans in closer and growls into my ear. “Do that.”
“I’ll call now,” I say.
As he passes over my purse from the opposite counter, his phone rings. He looks at the screen and rejects the call.
“Do it now,” he orders while kissing my neck and gripping my hips.
“Even if I get a yes, you should probably recover a few days, and…”
“No fucking way I’m going days without being inside you, especially not if I can be inside you completely.” He winks.
My eyes boing and I bite my lower lip.
He nods as if to drive the message home and then jerks his chin to my phone.
“Nothing wrong with my cock, baby,” he adds. “In fact, I’d say Killer is fightin’ fit.”
I burst out laughing and his gaze goes from dark to light. To having so much light.
I scroll through my phone and find my doctor’s office.
“Gotta return that call and check on a few things. Then I’ll give you the tour. Can you handle putting this stuff away?”
I smile. “Absolutely.”
“Stay here. No wandering,” he mutters and kisses me. “I wanna show you the house myself.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
***
“So?” he asks. “What’s the verdict on this kitchen?”
“I love it. I am having visions of how amazing it could be with that fireplace, that view, all this space…”