Green Tea Latte To Go

by Ellis, Aven

  And it’s been perfect.

  As soon as we brought them home, Brooks made them comfortable on his bed, and we’ve spent the whole evening here. We watched an episode of Sherlock and even took turns quoting lines to prove who was the better fan. I’m happy to say it was a draw. Then we talked some more, made out some, and I don’t even want to know how late it is because I don’t want to go home.

  “Hold on, this has been bothering me since we got here,” Brooks says, interrupting my thoughts.

  “What?”

  He gets up and gently eases the blanket to move Luna and the kittens further down on the bed.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “They are still under my watchful eye, of course,” Brooks says, climbing back up toward me. “But right now,” he says, drawing me into his body and moving my legs across his lap, “I want to turn my attention to you.”

  Oh, my heart.

  He drops his lips on mine and gently eases them open. Desire and happiness radiate through me in equal force as his mouth claims mine. I slide my hand up to the side of his face, feeling his stubble scratch against my skin. I drink in the scent of his cologne, that delicious citrus scent, and relish the feel of his velvety lips as our bodies melt together.

  Oh, I want this. Kissing Brooks is the most natural thing in the world to me. I was meant to kiss this man. I know it.

  He places his hand on my knee, and heat fills me when I feel his fingertips teasingly dance across my knee and upper thigh. I touch his hair, the nape of his neck, and his tongue seeks more from me, which I eagerly give him.

  I dare to touch his chest, feeling his muscles underneath the crisp fabric of his dress shirt. I travel up his arm, and when I get to his shoulder, it feels nothing but rock solid underneath my palm.

  Brooks skims his hand up the outside of my leg, toward my ribcage, his hand stopping before going any further. His lips continue to move against mine, increasing in intensity. Heat travels through me, and a moan escapes my lips. He cradles my face in his hands, his kiss sensual, and I have my hands back in his hair, caressing his rich brown locks.

  I break the kiss and place my lips ever so gently against the side of his neck, needing to taste his skin. He groans softly, and need fills me. I want to make him feel this way.

  I want this man to want me as much as I want him.

  I slowly move my lips up and down his neck, and I feel his body respond to my touch. A shuddered breath escapes his lips. His hands tangle in my hair, and I feel my heartbeat quicken.

  Suddenly he lifts my head, his eyes burning into mine. And then he kisses me, a kiss that is hard and fast and filled with passion. I greedily take more from him. I’ve never kissed a man like this. I want this. I want so much more. I feel his skin, I feel his hands on me, we’re both quickly touching and exploring and my heart is beating fast out of my chest.

  Brooks abruptly breaks the kiss, and we both draw a breath of air. I see it in his eyes. This could easily go further, but he’s going to slow it down.

  He sweetly brushes his lips against my forehead, then over each eye, the bridge of my nose, and my heart sings with joy when he brushes them against my lips in the gentlest of kisses.

  “I like you, Payton,” he whispers against my lips.

  He lifts his head, and I’m touched by the sweet expression on his gorgeous face.

  “Good, because I like you, too, Brooks,” I say back to him.

  He draws me against his chest, cradling me to him, and I can hear his heart pounding through the fabric of his shirt.

  Brooks plays with my hair, looping his fingers through my curls, and a happy sigh escapes my lips.

  “I love this,” I murmur into his chest.

  “Playing with your hair?”

  “Mmmm, yes.”

  “I’ll remember that,” he says, gently kissing the top of my head.

  “Brooks?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is it wrong that I don’t want to go home?” I say softly.

  Brooks slides one of his hands underneath my chin, lightly tilting my face up to greet his. “What are you saying?”

  I feel very vulnerable right now. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’ve never risked being so open about my feelings before. I’ve never flat out asked for what I want with a man. I haven’t really thought this out or how I should phrase it.

  But when I gaze up into Brooks’ eyes, I trust myself to say what is in my heart, whether it’s the perfect thing to share or not.

  “While I know the full English is off the table,” I say, reaching up and stroking his face, “I do think it would be nice to spend the night here with you.”

  “You want to spend the night?” he repeats, his eyes searching mine.

  “Yeah,” I nod.

  “In a bed full of kittens, with Angus who will demand to be fed at six o’clock in the morning, and you’ll be stuck in your dress?” he asks, brushing his fingertips down the side of my face.

  “Well, you could loan me a shirt,” I say, daring to be bold.

  “I suppose I could,” he says slowly. Then he cocks an eyebrow at me. “And you won’t roll over on the kittens?”

  Happiness bursts through me like a ray of sunshine.

  He wants me to stay, too.

  “I promise,” I say.

  “I’ll be getting up periodically to check on the kittens, you won’t sleep much.”

  “I lived in a dorm. I can sleep with Sherlock on, all the lights on, and someone blasting urban gangsta rap at three in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow is Saturday. I’ll have to take Luna and the babies back to the clinic in the morning.”

  “That’s your job. I embrace that.”

  Then I see it. Brooks’ face goes serious from those words.

  “You do, don’t you?”

  This time I reach for his hand and bring it to my lips, placing a loving kiss across his knuckles.

  “I do.”

  Brooks links his hand through mine and puts it over his heart. “All right. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. After we get the cats situated at the clinic, we’ll go to the Public Market and buy everything to cook dinner here tomorrow night. Payton style. No beans.”

  Oh my, THE FEELS.

  “I’d love it,” I say happily.

  “Then we can come back here and take a nap. Except Angus likes to get in on nap time. Do you have a problem with that?”

  I laugh. “No, I can cuddle with Angus.”

  “Bloody hell, you’re going to cuddle with me, not Angus,” Brooks says, laughing. “But he’ll want to sleep with us, too.”

  “Brooks, I’m fine. With all of it. Now why don’t you kiss me to seal the deal?”

  “Yes, my lady,” Brooks teases, lowering his mouth to mine.

  As I drink in his sweet kiss, I think of how my night is going to be. I’ll have no sleep. I’ll have to wash my face and show Brooks my pores. He’ll see me the next morning in my natural state on only the second date. And I’ll be exhausted tomorrow, probably cranky with bags under my eyes.

  The old Payton—me before Brooks—would never allow this to happen.

  Because this all sounds perfectly imperfect.

  And for once in my life, I find myself loving it.

  ***

  Breakfast has never been sexier.

  I’m supposed to be watching the pancakes, but while I wait for them to bubble, I steal another glimpse of Brooks while he slices some bananas at a cutting board.

  Cutting.

  Cut.

  Just like his body.

  Which I have a glorious view of right now because he’s wearing nothing but sweatpants.

  Brooks is beyond what I envisioned he’d look like with his shirt off. His naturally golden skin is simply beautiful, with no tattoos in sight. My eyes flicker across his shoulders, powerful and muscular from lifting weights. His chest is very broad to match his tall frame, with sculpted pecs that I had the pleasure of touching last night.

&
nbsp; I continue to drink him in, from the way his developed biceps are so strong, to the sexy veins running through his arms, to the washboard abs that taper right into that super hot V-shape where his navy sweatpants are hanging wonderfully lo—

  “Is something burning?”

  I blink. “Huh?”

  “You might want to shift your attention from me to pancakes,” Brooks says, his eyes sparkling at me as he points his knife toward the pan I’m standing over.

  Pancakes.

  Shit.

  I look down and they are completely bubbled over the top. I flip one over and am greeted with a black, burnt pancake.

  “Ugh, I’ve burned them,” I cry, quickly removing the ruined pancakes to a plate that is sitting on the countertop next to me.

  “You promised me you were an expert pancake maker,” Brooks says, facing me with a huge grin on his face.

  “But I am,” I declare, heading over to the trash and dumping the blackened pancakes. “I have mastered the art of when to flip them to get the perfect golden color on each side.”

  “Yes, I can see that. Very golden. Or is black the new very golden?”

  “Oh, shut up,” I say, laughing.

  “To be fair, you aren’t used to being distracted by an impossibly sexy British man in the kitchen.”

  I feel my breath catch in my throat. No, I think as I study him, I’m not.

  Brooks puts down the knife and makes his way toward me, and my pulse leaps in anticipation. He steps in front of me, sliding his hands around my waist, and happiness fills me from feeling his touch.

  “Yet I’ve somehow managed to slice bananas while knowing you’re in the same room, wearing my shirt and looking so beautiful in the morning,” he says softly, gazing down at me. “And it’s quite distracting to see your sexy legs in full view mere feet away from me.”

  Beautiful. Sexy.

  Words only Brooks has used to describe me.

  “You really think I make this Henley shirt sexy?” I ask aloud, as I slept in one of his gray Henley shirts last night.

  Brooks moves his hands up to my face, holding it gently. “You have no idea what it did to me to see you in my shirt, do you?”

  I lift my hands to his chest, heat surging through me the second I feel his warm skin under my palm.

  “You’re so beautiful, and I don’t think you have any idea that you are,” Brooks says, caressing my face in his hands. “I can say it over and over. Payton, you’re beautiful. Sexy. Hot. And I think I need to prove it to you.”

  Then Brooks lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me. I melt into him, my body pressing against his strong chest, my lips moving against his. I feel the sunlight from his kitchen windows warming my face and his rough stubble wonderfully scratches my skin as he kisses me, his tongue sexily seeking mine.

  I glide my hands up to his hair, raking my fingers through it, and I moan in pleasure against his lips. Oh, this kiss is hot. Our bodies are entwined, his kiss sensual, and now I feel his hand slide down to my waist, past my hip, until he finds my bare thigh and then a low groan escapes his throat when his hand touches me there. The second I hear it I kiss him passionately.

  Now I’m dizzy with need. I need Brooks to kiss me, to touch me like this, and I’ve never felt more alive with a man than I do at this moment.

  Finally, Brooks breaks the kiss, and I resist the urge to grab him back and kiss him all over again.

  I see nothing but hunger in his brown eyes.

  And joy fills me when I know that hunger is for me.

  “Um,” Brooks says, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck, “that should answer your question.”

  I’m so happy I could burst. Although I know this easily could have led to the “full English,” Brooks isn’t going to let it. Not yet. Which makes my heart tumble for him once again.

  I lean up on my tiptoes and press a sweet kiss to his lips. “So you don’t mind my messy hair?”

  “No,” Brooks says, sliding his arm around my waist to hold me.

  “My large pores?”

  “I find pores an incredible turn on when they belong to you,” he declares, kissing the tip of my nose affectionately.

  I giggle. “You have no idea how charming you are,” I say, kissing him again.

  “Charming? I’m a geek.”

  “Ha! No.”

  “Ha! Yes. Did I not go on this morning in detail about Angus’ breakfast and how I have to balance his nutrition carefully and why I give him two servings of pig pellets a day, and the importance of salad in his diet, as well as specific nutritional supplements?”

  Oh, the FEELS I have for Brooks at this moment!

  “Dr. Martin, I find fish oil supplements intoxicating,” I say, caressing his chest with my hand. “As well as coconut oil treats for mini pigs.”

  Brooks laughs and places his hand over mine, holding it over his heart.

  “I’m so glad you tried to steal my drink at the coffeehouse.”

  I burst out laughing. “I didn’t steal your cup!”

  “You tried to.”

  “We accidentally brushed hands.”

  “Or was it fate?”

  I lose myself in his eyes. “Fate,” I say softly.

  As we stand in his kitchen, with my hand over his heart, I have no doubt fate led me to this place where I am now.

  And I have a fantastic feeling about where we are going, too.

  CHAPTER 16

  Today’s plan to improve myself item: Sometimes you need to be a tourist in your hometown to see it with fresh eyes.

  Result: I’ll never look at my beloved Seattle the same after sharing it with Brooks

  ***

  This is what I’ve been missing.

  I glance up at Brooks as we walk through the Pike Place Market, the legendary public market on the waterfront of Elliott Bay. After taking Luna and her kittens back to the clinic, we stopped at my place so I could shower and change. And for today, I chose my dark skinny jeans, my GAP red-and-white gingham fitted boyfriend shirt and black espadrilles. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, swapped out my purse for a huge canvas tote, and then we were on our way.

  And now here I am, my hand entwined with his, exploring the market through his eyes. Brooks loves fresh produce as much as I do, and we spent a lot of time perusing fabulous stalls filled with seasonal fruits and vegetables. Vibrant mounds of deep green spinach. Gorgeous red, shiny cherries, perfect for summer. Fresh peaches that perfumed the air with their divine scent.

  But, of course, there’s so much more to experience than produce. Fresh-cut flowers of all kinds. Coffee. Pastries. Artisan cheeses. Fish thrown across counters. Gift shops. Craft vendors. And live music and performances, too.

  I steal a glance at Brooks, who is eagerly leading me through a flower stall, looking at arrangements. He suddenly picks up a beautiful pink peony and studies it closely.

  “Hmmmm,” he says, holding it back and squinting at it.

  “Hmmm, what?”

  “Not quite as big as the flowers on Sylvia’s wallpaper,” he says, his brown eyes dancing at me. “But then I’d suppose we’d need to find flowers as big as your head for that.”

  I laugh, and Brooks does, too. “I love peonies.”

  “Then you’ll love this one,” Brooks says, holding it toward me.

  I lean into his shoulder as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to do and inhale the divine scent of the fresh-cut flower.

  And once again, I realize this is what I’ve been missing. Sharing my morning with someone in the way I am with Brooks at this moment. Where we can do something as simple as wander through a market and talk. Laugh. Hold hands. Look at flowers.

  And all these experiences are made richer by sharing them with Brooks. I’m seeing Seattle through Brooks’ eyes, and the experience is amazing.

  “That’s beautiful,” I say, closing my eyes and breathing in the perfume of the flower.

  “You are,” Brooks says softly.

  My eyes
flutter open, and I find Brooks gazing down at me with a tender expression on his face.

  The butterflies swoop and swirl in my stomach, and Brooks shifts his attention back to the flowers.

  “Are these your favorites?” he asks.

  “Yes. I adore pink peonies.”

  He swiftly picks up some pink peonies, then some white ones.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m going to have them make you a bouquet,” he says. “It’s your favorite flower, they are in season, so you should have them. And perhaps you’ll think of me when you look at them.”

  Oh, the feels I have for this man!

  I watch as Brooks talks to the vendor, and she makes suggestions for what to put in my arrangement. And very soon Brooks is coming back toward me with a gorgeous bouquet of peonies and white calla lilies wrapped in paper.

  “For you,” he says, extending the flowers to me.

  “Thank you,” I say, inhaling them. “This is so thoughtful.”

  He smiles and takes my free hand in his. Brooks leads me through the market, down narrow alleys and steps. We delight in what we discover at every turn, in every nook and cranny. The market is crowded, of course, but neither one of us minds. Finally, we are back to the produce, where we started, and as my eyes drink in the vibrant colors surrounding me, happiness fills my heart.

  “What are you thinking?” Brooks asks.

  I blink and see that he’s staring down at me.

  “I’m thinking of how lucky I am to live in a city that has this incredible market with such a rich history,” I say. “This market has been here since 1907. Think of all the people who have had this same experience across time. That we’ve all bought food here to make for our families. Laughed at the fish being thrown. Inhaled the scent of coffee mingling with the air from the bay and had to grab a cup.”

  “I like the way you see it. When I first came here, I fell in love with it. The history of it, like you said. And there are all different kinds of people here, which is fun for observing. I have the ability to support local farmers, which is important, and I can get all these amazing things in the city. I can even buy crumpets, how about that?”