Be My Bride (Make It Marriage Book 8) by Arthurs Nia

Author:Arthurs, Nia [Arthurs, Nia]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-07-11T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty

Hansley

I lug my fishing gear off my body and set the boots on the porch to dry.

Dad does the same, his movements sure and steady. His hair is more grey than brown now and there are deep wrinkles around his eyes and lips—mostly from spending so much of his time outdoors.

A twinge of sorrow winds through me when I notice all the signs of his aging.

My parents are getting old.

I wish I could stop time. Keep them with me forever.

Dad seems to sense my thoughts and slaps my back with a grunt.

“You’re not allowed to get sick, dad,” I say, pointing at him. “So don’t be stubborn and go see the doctor when mom tells you to.”

“Don’t be stubborn and give your mom grandchildren when she asks you to.”

Normally, I’d shut that thought down. Hard.

But today, I hesitate as an image of a baby with light brown skin, Asia’s eyes and my curly hair pops into mind.

It doesn’t scare me.

Damn, it… it’s everything.

Dad gives me a knowing look.

I shake it off and open the door. Lured through the foyer by an incredibly delicious fragrance, I stop short when I see Asia and my mom working side-by-side in the kitchen.

Her bright laughter bounces against the walls. Music pours from the speakers hidden in the corners of the room, intertwining in a warm, homey melody.

Both Mom and Asia are dancing to the rhythm as they work and giggle like sisters lost at birth.

My eyes fall on Asia. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail and it swings back and forth with every shake of her shoulders. The light bounces against her brown skin and the soft, contented smile on her bee-stung lips.

Her brown eyes fix on me and, I swear, my heart stops beating for a solid moment.

Just freezes.

Everything inside me strains toward her.

Every muscle.

Every vein.

Like steel drawing near to a magnet.

That magnet doesn’t ask for permission.

It doesn’t beg.

It just is.

And the steel can’t help but be pulled to it. Caught up in it.

Asia glances away first and pulls her bottom lip into her teeth. The hell? Is she worried about something? Did the talk with my mom go south?

No, but they’re dancing.

They’re having fun.

Is she faking it?

The thought sends a dark cloud hurtling over my head. I knew I shouldn’t have left her alone.

Dad grunts as he enters the kitchen.

Mom brightens when she looks at him, love pouring from her eyes. “How was the trip.”

“Successful,” dad says.

Asia glances at our empty hands. “I don’t see any fish.”

“Because we didn’t catch any.” I stalk around the counter.

“Then why was it successful?”

“Because he got to say everything he wanted to say.” I drop my hands on her shoulders and lean in for a quick kiss.

She kisses me back, her eyes fluttering closed and her hands hovering above me so she doesn’t get any flour on my T-shirt.

Kissing her is the most natural move in the world.

And I find myself wanting to do that everyday.

Every morning.

Walk in and see Asia.

Just Asia.

In my kitchen.

In my living room.

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