Gingerbread Kisses by Kat Baxter

Author:Kat Baxter [Baxter, Kat]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-03T16:00:00+00:00

Brock

I pull her close to me, her curves molding perfectly to my body. I could definitely get used to this. To her.

“What was your favorite part about being in Europe?” she asks.

I think again about all those postcards I still have. All addressed and stamped, telling her about the architecture and museums, or how the beaches were different. But those are in a box under the bed and I’m not ready to share them with her.

“Being able to see so much of the world in one small area. The countries are small. Not like Texas where it takes you all day to drive from one side to the other. There you can drive from Frankfurt to Venice in the same time it takes to go from Austin to El Paso. That and all the history. There’s history everywhere. Not just in the museums, but on the streets. The actual streets in some cases are still made of stone. I loved all the history.”

“I never would have pegged you for a history nerd,” she says and I can hear the smile in her voice even though she’s facing away from me. “I was surprised when your mom said that’s what you were studying.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t really something I advertised in high school. I got good grades, but never really talked about my interests with the football team or whatever.”

“Or your cheerleader girlfriend,” she adds.

“Definitely not. We never had any important conversations. It didn’t take me long to figure out that we had nothing in common.”

We’re quiet for a while. And it’s a comfortable silence I don’t feel urged to fill with nonsense. My hand rubs up and down on her hip and thigh. Her skin is so soft. As is her hair, which is piled up above our heads like a red tangle of silk.

“I really am sorry about how I treated you in high school. I wish I had an excuse or a reason. I just—”

She puts her hand on mine and squeezes. “We both screwed up. Don’t worry about it. Just be nice to me from now on.”

“I promise.” I kiss her shoulder. I feel compelled to tell her in some way that she’s always been important to me. “Do you remember when my grandpa died?”

“Yeah, we were...what, juniors that year?”

“I think so. We hadn’t talked much or hung out at all that year, but you left that jar of shells on my porch with a note telling me how sorry you were that he died.”

She sucks in a breath. “I’d forgotten about that. I really liked your grandpa. I know I only met him a few times, but he had the best stories.”

“He did. He was great. Left me the money to do all of this even after paying for college.” I’m quiet for a moment and then I tell her. “I still have them. The shells. They’ve moved with me all over. Every new place I went in Europe, they were with me. You were with me.

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