Pocketful of Sand
Page 39
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Grinning over at Cole, Emmy raises her hands, just a little, and thumps them to the beat. “Go, Emmy! Go, Emmy!” Cole cheers when she starts to wiggle her shoulders. Her face is lit up like the fourth of July and I’ve never seen a more wonderful sight. Even as gorgeous as the man at her side is, seeing her make this small bit of progress is breathtakingly beautiful.
From the living room, I direct Cole in supply procurement as he gathers a bowl and fork, takes eggs, butter and milk from the fridge, grabs cinnamon from the cabinet and gets a skillet from under the stove.
He moves like he’s comfortable in a kitchen. I guess he has to be. I mean, he’s a bachelor. It’s that or starve.
“Think I can crack this egg with one hand?” he asks Emmy. She watches with wide eyes as he does exactly that. I can tell she’s impressed, but not nearly as much as when he dances his way to the trashcan to throw the empty shell away. She watches his every move, a smile playing with the corners of her lips the whole time. It occurs to me that she probably finds him just as incredible as I do.
As she whisks the milk and egg mixture, Cole turns to me. When his eyes fix on mine again, they make me feel breathless. He’s impossibly handsome anyway, but when he’s like this–so relaxed and playful, taking such care with my daughter–I think to myself that there can’t be a more attractive man on the planet. There just can’t.
“Come on, mom,” Cole says, holding out his hand to me. “Help us make dancin’ French toast.”
So I do. And it’s the best French toast I’ve ever had.
We decide to make the snowman in Cole’s small yard. It didn’t take much to convince Emmy of the benefits of it, especially once Cole told her that he had carrots at his house and that the snowman would be devastated if he had no nose. She practically dragged me all the way to his place after that. The snowman must not be noselessly devastated!
Now, we’re sitting in his kitchen, looking out at the snowman in his back yard while he makes us hot chocolate to cap off the grilled cheese and soup we just ate. Emmy is watching cartoons on his enormous TV, playing with her toes through her socks, eyes glued to the screen.
“So, why did you really want the snowman in your yard?” I ask. That question has been bugging me all day. Cole seemed very determined to bring us here, to have the snowman here.
His eyes flicker to Emmy and then back to me. As always, even after such a brief reprieve from them, I’m struck by the bright blue intensity of his gaze. I think I can literally feel it when he looks at me. No kidding.
“Is it so terrible that I wanted you here? That I wanted to see you playing in my yard, sitting at my table, watching your daughter from my kitchen?”
His words warm me better than the crackling fire that’s blazing in his huge fireplace. “I guess that’s not too terrible,” I deflect, lowering my eyes so he won’t see how much pleasure his words bring me.
Cole reaches out and hooks a finger under my chin, lifting until my eyes are back on his, unable to escape. “I’d keep you here if I could. I’d memorize you in every room of this house. It would never be empty again. It would smell like you, feel like you. It would hold you.”
I can’t help the smile that breaks out across my face. “Well, in that case, we’d better get started. Do I get a tour of all these rooms I’m staying in?”
“I’d love to show you around.” His smile is heart-stopping. God, I almost wish he wouldn’t do that. Especially when I’m not expecting it. It makes my lungs shut down completely. But it fires other organs up to the point of being bothersome. Hot and bothersome.
Cole turns off the stove and sets the saucepan of cocoa onto a cool eye. “Would you like to see the other rooms, Emmy?” he asks, taking my hand and leading me into the living room where she is. She’s stretched out on the couch now, her head resting against one of the pillows. Her eyes are sleepy when she looks back at him and smiles, shaking her head. She promptly dismisses him by turning her attention back to her cartoons.
“Gotta admire that kind of focus,” he says wryly, pulling me with him toward a door on the other side of the room.
The cabin is laid out with the living room and kitchen being basically one big, open room with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the ocean. There’s a rock fireplace on the right wall of the space and a couple of doors on the left. Two hallways frame the kitchen, but I’m guessing we’ll get to those in a minute.
Behind the first door is an office. It looks well-used yet orderly, and I’m guessing Cole does most of his business from in here. I walk around the chunky, mahogany desk, trailing my fingers along the edge. It suits him. It’s rich and masculine, it’s color dark and sensual. It’s Cole. Down to a T.
When I round the desk, I look up to find Cole watching me. His eyes are the same intense electric blue as always, but they’re not so unreadable right now. Right now, they’re hungry. The way he’s looking at me…it’s like he’s starving to death and I’m his favorite meal.
The thought sends a chill racing through me. It lands with a delicious thud right between my legs.
I almost groan. But I don’t. I hold it in.
Being alone with Cole again (even though we aren’t totally alone) after being so close to him all day and not really being able to touch him (even though I wanted to so, so badly) is making me feel bold and a little dangerous. I stand in front of his chair, brushing my fingers back and forth over the slick wooden surface.
From the living room, I direct Cole in supply procurement as he gathers a bowl and fork, takes eggs, butter and milk from the fridge, grabs cinnamon from the cabinet and gets a skillet from under the stove.
He moves like he’s comfortable in a kitchen. I guess he has to be. I mean, he’s a bachelor. It’s that or starve.
“Think I can crack this egg with one hand?” he asks Emmy. She watches with wide eyes as he does exactly that. I can tell she’s impressed, but not nearly as much as when he dances his way to the trashcan to throw the empty shell away. She watches his every move, a smile playing with the corners of her lips the whole time. It occurs to me that she probably finds him just as incredible as I do.
As she whisks the milk and egg mixture, Cole turns to me. When his eyes fix on mine again, they make me feel breathless. He’s impossibly handsome anyway, but when he’s like this–so relaxed and playful, taking such care with my daughter–I think to myself that there can’t be a more attractive man on the planet. There just can’t.
“Come on, mom,” Cole says, holding out his hand to me. “Help us make dancin’ French toast.”
So I do. And it’s the best French toast I’ve ever had.
We decide to make the snowman in Cole’s small yard. It didn’t take much to convince Emmy of the benefits of it, especially once Cole told her that he had carrots at his house and that the snowman would be devastated if he had no nose. She practically dragged me all the way to his place after that. The snowman must not be noselessly devastated!
Now, we’re sitting in his kitchen, looking out at the snowman in his back yard while he makes us hot chocolate to cap off the grilled cheese and soup we just ate. Emmy is watching cartoons on his enormous TV, playing with her toes through her socks, eyes glued to the screen.
“So, why did you really want the snowman in your yard?” I ask. That question has been bugging me all day. Cole seemed very determined to bring us here, to have the snowman here.
His eyes flicker to Emmy and then back to me. As always, even after such a brief reprieve from them, I’m struck by the bright blue intensity of his gaze. I think I can literally feel it when he looks at me. No kidding.
“Is it so terrible that I wanted you here? That I wanted to see you playing in my yard, sitting at my table, watching your daughter from my kitchen?”
His words warm me better than the crackling fire that’s blazing in his huge fireplace. “I guess that’s not too terrible,” I deflect, lowering my eyes so he won’t see how much pleasure his words bring me.
Cole reaches out and hooks a finger under my chin, lifting until my eyes are back on his, unable to escape. “I’d keep you here if I could. I’d memorize you in every room of this house. It would never be empty again. It would smell like you, feel like you. It would hold you.”
I can’t help the smile that breaks out across my face. “Well, in that case, we’d better get started. Do I get a tour of all these rooms I’m staying in?”
“I’d love to show you around.” His smile is heart-stopping. God, I almost wish he wouldn’t do that. Especially when I’m not expecting it. It makes my lungs shut down completely. But it fires other organs up to the point of being bothersome. Hot and bothersome.
Cole turns off the stove and sets the saucepan of cocoa onto a cool eye. “Would you like to see the other rooms, Emmy?” he asks, taking my hand and leading me into the living room where she is. She’s stretched out on the couch now, her head resting against one of the pillows. Her eyes are sleepy when she looks back at him and smiles, shaking her head. She promptly dismisses him by turning her attention back to her cartoons.
“Gotta admire that kind of focus,” he says wryly, pulling me with him toward a door on the other side of the room.
The cabin is laid out with the living room and kitchen being basically one big, open room with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the ocean. There’s a rock fireplace on the right wall of the space and a couple of doors on the left. Two hallways frame the kitchen, but I’m guessing we’ll get to those in a minute.
Behind the first door is an office. It looks well-used yet orderly, and I’m guessing Cole does most of his business from in here. I walk around the chunky, mahogany desk, trailing my fingers along the edge. It suits him. It’s rich and masculine, it’s color dark and sensual. It’s Cole. Down to a T.
When I round the desk, I look up to find Cole watching me. His eyes are the same intense electric blue as always, but they’re not so unreadable right now. Right now, they’re hungry. The way he’s looking at me…it’s like he’s starving to death and I’m his favorite meal.
The thought sends a chill racing through me. It lands with a delicious thud right between my legs.
I almost groan. But I don’t. I hold it in.
Being alone with Cole again (even though we aren’t totally alone) after being so close to him all day and not really being able to touch him (even though I wanted to so, so badly) is making me feel bold and a little dangerous. I stand in front of his chair, brushing my fingers back and forth over the slick wooden surface.
