The Sun and the Moon [Wattys 2015 winner]

Chapter 9: Appetizers and Dessert

A tall, tan surfer hunk stood on my doorstep in the evening sun, his golden hair gleaming and his green eyes sparkling.

Special delivery. For me.

He again wore a plaid short-sleeved button down shirt with a white t-shirt underneath and dark jeans and flip flops. God, even his feet were attractive. The shirt hugged his biceps and the jeans hung in a sexy way from his hips. He carried two bouquets of small white rosebuds and two Trader Joe's grocery bags.

"Hi!" I said, overly cheery. "Come on in." I was wearing a petal pink cashmere v-neck sweater and jeans. Comfy but elegant.

Oh, but I had on new lingerie underneath.

He looked down at me and smiled his Sun God smile. Then he stepped in, dropped the bags and the flowers on the foyer, and grabbed me. One hand curled around my back, the other headed to my ass, as he pressed himself to me. I immediately scooted my arms up around his neck and reached one hand to his soft curly hair. He leaned in and kissed me, and of course he kissed me senseless, his tongue chasing mine, his warm mouth welcoming. Damn he smelled clean and good. Damn he looked good close up.

All of the things that I had been worrying about before he came over—tidying the house, whether or not I set the table and if so, how?, checking my makeup, generally fussing—evaporated.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while," he said in his sexy, husky voice after he broke apart with a groan, looking at me while he pressed his forehead to my forehead. And it was like my brain went to voice mail.

Amelia's brain is out of service at this time. Please try back later.

I mustered a breathy response of "me too." He looked at me intently.

"Hi," he whispered, running his finger down my nose and bopping it on the end.

"Hi," I whispered back.

He let me go, picked up the bags, sauntered into my kitchen like he owned it and started to take out groceries. "Can you arrange the flowers and I'll make dinner?"

I didn't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.

That said, I would take it.

"Sounds good to me." Sure I would let him wait on me hand and foot.

I pulled out a wide low clear cylindrical vase for the white rosebuds and got some scissors and cut the stems quite short so that they were even with the top of the vase. This made it a rather chic arrangement. Like I said, I gave good table.

I wrapped up the stems quickly in newspaper so that I wouldn't prick myself with the thorns.

"Thanks for the flowers," I said. "White roses are actually my favorite."

He grinned and came over and inspected the vase. Turning to me and running his finger down my cheek, he said, "They reminded me of you. You knew just what to do with them." He plucked a petal from one flower and fingered it.

I noticed that he touched the softness of the rose while I tried to avoid the thorns.

Deep thoughts, Amelia. Focus.

"So," I said brightly. "What did you bring?"

"Appetizers, wine, beer, and stuff to make chicken pasta and salad. Chocolate cake for dessert. Will that work?"

I'm stunned, but this time not by his masculine beauty or damn gravitational pull, but how, um, perfect he is.

My favorite flowers.