Memory of a Melody by Charli B. Rose

Author:Charli B. Rose [B. Rose, Charli]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2020-10-24T16:00:00+00:00

Our faces were so close I could smell the mint of her toothpaste when she finally exhaled. Those mesmerizing eyes of hers ticked back and forth across my face, surveying me. I was frozen in place, over halfway to kissing her. My lips remembered the feel of hers. My fingers flexed on her waist, muscle memory kicking in. The night we’d met, she’d groaned when my hands tightened possessively on her hips.

As if my memory brought the moment back from the dead, she moaned so softly, her breath washing over my lips. The distance between us lessened. I desperately wanted to crush my mouth to hers. Her eyes drifted close, and she tilted her head a little more. Her fingers clenched the collar of my shirt.

Thankfully, my brain kicked in before I did something she’d surely regret, given she was back in a relationship with Cade and was about to marry him. I tucked her head under my chin and held her tightly for a moment. When my heart quit thundering quite so erratically, I pushed myself back from her. “What can I fix you for lunch?” my tone was gravelly and filled with need.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. She blinked up at me a few times before she seemed to get her bearings straight. She stepped out of my hold and led me to the kitchen. “We have leftover Chinese takeout from what Syd brought home last night. We have stuff to make sandwiches and salads.” She opened the fridge and peered inside. “Oh, and there’s some leftover soup my mom sent over, because soup cures all that ails you.” She laughed merrily.

“How about soup and grilled cheese?” I asked, my stomach growling at the sound of that.

“Sounds perfect.” She pulled out a container from the fridge. “Vegetable beef.”

I took it from her, vented the lid and put it in the microwave. After a quick perusal of the settings, I pressed a few buttons and got the soup heating slowly. While I’d been doing that, Willa had pulled out butter, cheese and a loaf of bread. Leaning down next to where I stood, she pulled out a frying pan.

I quickly took it from her and set it on the stove. Once the heat was on at a medium level, I dropped a dollop of butter in the center so it could melt. Willa had buttered four slices of bread by the time a puddle of golden yellow filled the middle of the pan. I grabbed the slices and placed them in the pan. They sizzled.

“Where would I find a spatula?” I asked.

“Oh.” She snapped out of whatever daze she was in. “Right here.” She opened a drawer. “Voila!” she said, brandishing it at me.

I snatched it out of the air then used it to flip the slices of bread over. “I’ve got this. You relax.”

Instead of doing that, Willa moved around the kitchen getting napkins and bowls, pouring us glasses of lemonade, and fetching spoons.

I inhaled deeply, breathing in the rich aroma of the soup.

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