Patchworked Hearts {SAMPLE}

Chapter 8

Addiction, Helen decided, could take shape in many different forms.

She'd never tried drugs or smoking and hadn't had alcohol since the accident, but she'd also never considered the possibility of becoming addicted to a person and his house and cat.

It was, she was realizing now, entirely possible.

She was nestled on her side and wrapped in Pat's embrace as they watched their third episode of Cupcake Wars on Netflix, but Gilligan had weaseled his way onto the couch (she'd had to pick him up, actually, since he couldn't jump), and his large frame provided warmth and a steady round of purring.

"That's too much pumpkin spice," Pat grumbled against her ear, his stubble tickling the skin of her cheek. "It'll overpower the okra."

Helen's nose wrinkled. "Isn't that a good thing? I don't particularly like okra."

Pat's chest shook with his soft laugh. "It's good fried; we'll make it sometime. But if they overpower the okra, the judges won't like it. They like to taste every flavor, regardless of how gross it might be."

"Fair enough," she mused, before turning slightly and eyeing him curiously. "Do you bake too?" He'd mentioned over dinner that he liked to cook, but she hadn't asked him about his baking habits.

"I do." He stared at her for a moment, his eyes tracing over her cheeks and lips, and then he bent down and dropped a sweet kiss on her temple. "It should be known, however," he confessed as he pulled back just enough to make eye contact once more, "that, although my sisters and mom do love this show and got me into it, they didn't teach me how to bake, which I think goes against some sort of man code."

Retracting a hand from Gilligan's fluffy body, she reached up and used her index finger to create an invisible path from Pat's temple to his lips (part of her mind was stunned that she could do things like that whenever she pleased). "I don't care about 'man code'; how did you get into baking?"

"Mom's always burned anything that goes in an oven, Tess used salt instead of sugar the first time she attempted chocolate chip cookies, and Margie has never bothered with sweets that don't come out of a wrapper." He rolled his eyes fondly, no doubt remembering the circumstances. "Grandma and Grandpa were both pastry chefs, so they ended up teaching me everything before they passed away."

Recognizing that he viewed their influence as a happy memory and probably didn't want to dwell on their deaths, she wiggled her eyebrows and jested, "A man who can cook and bake? Now we're talking!"

"And I can drive—let's not forget that." He replied in the same tone. "An all-around package."

"Clearly," she retorted, her voice heavy with sarcasm, even though she was inwardly agreeing with him.

He opened his mouth to reply but was distracted by the TV. "Ah, judging; it's the best part. I bet you five bucks that they'll be upset that they can't taste the okra."

Helen snorted derisively. "As if. I'll bet you five bucks that you've already seen this episode."

Pat grinned sheepishly, his eyes darting to hers for a split second before they returned to the television screen. "You might be right."

"I know I'm right."

They both ended up being right when the competitor got disqualified for her "lack of flavor separation" and Pat whispered in her ear, "I've seen this episode at least four times."

She didn't mind his earlier attempt at deception so much when he fluttered gentle kisses along the column of her neck.

Oh yes, she was addicted indeed.