Coming Soon!
An excerpt from Beneath the Shine, Book 3 in the Prairie Tales series. Coming Spring 2018!
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"What in the world?”
Adair shuffles into the kitchen, his hair sticking up every which way and calloused fingers rubbing sleep from his eyes. His chest is bare, and I let my gaze linger too long near the dip where his pajama pants meet his hips before looking away. I twist around, taking in the four pies and dozens of cookies spread across the countertops and cooling on the kitchen table. It’s early—barely eight-thirty—and I’ve been working since five. Sleeping in is never something I’ve been able to do, a habit that more than likely has to do with my mother, who would chide me to no end those mornings I dared to stay in bed past eight. As a result, I’ve made friends with the dark hour before the dawn—which comes in handy on days like today, when I’m falling desperately behind.
Back in October, I signed up to provide the desserts for tonight’s Christmas Eve dinner at the soup kitchen, eagerly scrawling my name on the sign-up sheet with sweet thoughts of elaborately baked cakes and cookies and pies dancing in my head. But, with everything that went down yesterday, I had completely forgotten all about it—until last night when I was drifting off to sleep. Convenient, right?
Mutha @#$%!
I grab a mug and fill it with coffee as he slides onto one of the stools butting up against the kitchen island. He hunches over the countertop, the muscles in his shoulders flexing with the movement. Usually so manly, he looks like a little kid this morning, all squinty eyes and soft features, the dreams from the night filing down his hard edges.
He’s freaking adorable.
It’s all I can do not to wrap myself around him and hug his vulnerable little ass.
“The smell woke me up. I thought I was dreaming.”
He reaches for the tray of chocolate star cookies I’ve just pulled from the oven, and I slap his hand away. “Those are hot. Give them a minute.” I slip the mug into his grasp instead, successfully distracting him from the baked goods.
Adair brings the mug to his lips, moaning as he takes his first sip. He sets it down, tips his head back, and closes his eyes. His voice is gruff, a primal growl that pings off my bones and makes my skin tingle. “I think I’ll keep you.”
I laugh him off, brushing flour from my hands against the apron I tied over my jeans before starting this whole Betty Crocker endeavor. But when Adair levels his gaze my way, his expression is serious. The angles and hard edges have returned; he’s the sexy alpha that makes my knees weak again.
Turning back to the counter, I grab an apple, slap it onto the cutting board, and start slicing. My lips press together, my awkward frog-smile slipping over my face as I toss out my go-to response. “You’re such a nerd.”
____________________________________
"What in the world?”
Adair shuffles into the kitchen, his hair sticking up every which way and calloused fingers rubbing sleep from his eyes. His chest is bare, and I let my gaze linger too long near the dip where his pajama pants meet his hips before looking away. I twist around, taking in the four pies and dozens of cookies spread across the countertops and cooling on the kitchen table. It’s early—barely eight-thirty—and I’ve been working since five. Sleeping in is never something I’ve been able to do, a habit that more than likely has to do with my mother, who would chide me to no end those mornings I dared to stay in bed past eight. As a result, I’ve made friends with the dark hour before the dawn—which comes in handy on days like today, when I’m falling desperately behind.
Back in October, I signed up to provide the desserts for tonight’s Christmas Eve dinner at the soup kitchen, eagerly scrawling my name on the sign-up sheet with sweet thoughts of elaborately baked cakes and cookies and pies dancing in my head. But, with everything that went down yesterday, I had completely forgotten all about it—until last night when I was drifting off to sleep. Convenient, right?
Mutha @#$%!
I grab a mug and fill it with coffee as he slides onto one of the stools butting up against the kitchen island. He hunches over the countertop, the muscles in his shoulders flexing with the movement. Usually so manly, he looks like a little kid this morning, all squinty eyes and soft features, the dreams from the night filing down his hard edges.
He’s freaking adorable.
It’s all I can do not to wrap myself around him and hug his vulnerable little ass.
“The smell woke me up. I thought I was dreaming.”
He reaches for the tray of chocolate star cookies I’ve just pulled from the oven, and I slap his hand away. “Those are hot. Give them a minute.” I slip the mug into his grasp instead, successfully distracting him from the baked goods.
Adair brings the mug to his lips, moaning as he takes his first sip. He sets it down, tips his head back, and closes his eyes. His voice is gruff, a primal growl that pings off my bones and makes my skin tingle. “I think I’ll keep you.”
I laugh him off, brushing flour from my hands against the apron I tied over my jeans before starting this whole Betty Crocker endeavor. But when Adair levels his gaze my way, his expression is serious. The angles and hard edges have returned; he’s the sexy alpha that makes my knees weak again.
Turning back to the counter, I grab an apple, slap it onto the cutting board, and start slicing. My lips press together, my awkward frog-smile slipping over my face as I toss out my go-to response. “You’re such a nerd.”
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