‘That’s fine, but I won’t be too interested in tasting….the icecream’ he’d messaged her, and she remembered how she had nervously giggled. At her phone, because he wasn’t even there when he’d sent it. And now, with her hands trembling around the tub of Ben and Jerries, she recalled that one simple message. The conversation had flowed easily after that, as if he hadn’t just written a line that would’ve done well in a raunchy telenovella she’d watch.
She was so caught up in the memory of that message that she missed his footsteps as he entered the kitchen. It wasn’t until his hand on her hip spun her away from the counter, facing him, to be followed by fingertips sliding from her collarbone to the back of her head, weaving herself in her hair.
A thumb caressed her jawline ever so slightly before dipping under her chin…
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