“Oh my God, are there more of you?” she sighs plaintively. She lets her hand drop to her thigh where it makes an impressive slap, then turns around and shuffles back toward the refrigerator.
She left the door open so I tentatively step inside. I figured that must have been an invitation, right? I stand in the small breakfast area as she pulls open the refrigerator door, staring inside it and groaning softly.
“You okay?” I call out.
“Wine,” she groans.
Oh, that makes sense. I walk into the kitchen and take her by the shoulders, squeezing gently. She allows me to redirect her toward the short stool next to the countertop so she can sit. Something about her skin sizzles against my palms, and the way she lets me move her thrills me deeply. I push that thought aside.
“Our apple wine takes a lot of people by surprise,” I nod. “Why don’t you just sit there and let me make you something?”
She doesn't answer, just lets her forehead fall into her open palm. I pull some eggs and bacon out of the fridge, then a pitcher of orange juice. I fix her a glass before turning to the stove.
“Drink that, but not too fast. Small sips, okay?”
I hear her groaning softly as I move around the kitchen, easily finding everything I need because I'm familiar with the layout. I haven't been here in years, but I remember where everything is supposed to be, and that's pretty much where everything is.
It doesn't take too long to get a couple of eggs scrambled and two fat slabs of bacon crispy and on a plate. As I set it in front of her, she blinks up at me with wide, trusting eyes and smiles weakly.
“You just go ahead and eat that,” I tell her. “It's good for you.”
She tucks in, eating daintily and not saying a word. Small bits of egg disappear between those plump lips, and I watch her chewing carefully, swallowing every bite. As she's focused on her food, I can stare at her without her r
eally realizing it. I note the supple length of her fingers, the graceful curve of her wrists and forearms. She leans heavily on one elbow, letting the V-neck of her T-shirt skew to one side, revealing the creamy, velvety skin below her collarbones. I see her pulse throbbing at the base of her neck, and note the pink gumdrop shape of her earlobes.
Dammit, why am I even thinking like this?
Turning away, I get the pans scrubbed and dried in a hurry. Then I whisk her plate and fork to the sink and set a pot of coffee to percolate.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” she says in a small voice that's definitely stronger than earlier.
“So I guess breakfast is the least I can do, seeing how my brothers…”
Her eyes flicker up toward me, startled and guilty at the same time, then quickly turning defiant. That's interesting. That little bit of sass indicates she's not quite the shrinking violet I had assumed.
I stick out my hand. “So it’s nice to meet you,” I tell her. “I’m Stanley. Stan.”
“I’m Vanessa,” she says shyly. “So. Three brothers? All of you live next door?”
I search her eyes, looking for a hidden meaning behind the question. But she seems to really be asking me for a body count.
“Five, actually. Family business. The orchard is a family business.”
She draws her lower lip between her teeth, biting gently as she inhales. “Wow...There's coffee too?” she asks hopefully.
I splash a generous amount in the mug for her and one for myself. Then I finish them off with sugar and heavy cream from the fridge.
“Oh, you know just how I like it,” she breathes, smiling into the mug.
“Just a lucky guess,” I remark.
I like watching her swallow. I like watching her cheeks go pink from the steam.
“You should come over,” I tell her abruptly. “When you’re feeling better. Tonight. Meet all the guys.”
“Oh,” she starts. She smiles, and I admire how she's got two dimples on one side, and one on the other. Just a little quirk, something I find quite charming. “Well, my parents are starting a new location. They won't be back until tomorrow.”
“Just you, then,” I say, secretly pleased. “Say seven o'clock?”