Bring Me Back by Micalea Smeltzer
To Wendi and her fecking swirls.
May you love each other until the end of time
“Ben.” My giggles carry through the kitchen. “Stop, stop,” I plead as his fingers assault my stomach. “That tickles!”
His laughter is like music to my ears. “That’s the point.” He grasps my hips. “You need to loosen up some.”
My body relaxes now that he isn’t tickling me. He turns me around to face him, and then he cups my face in his hands.
“Ah, there it is.” He grins. “Your smile. I missed it.”
“I’m stressed,” I defend. My eyes fall to the mess cluttering our kitchen counters. We’re supposed to arrive at his mom’s house for Thanksgiving in the next hour, and I’ve yet to finish making the pie I promised to bring.
“Don’t stress,” he murmurs, ghosting his hands down my cheeks. “It’s just a pie.”
Such a guy thing to say.
“It’s not that simple,” I say. There’s no point trying to explain it to him since he won’t understand.
“Is this another one of your crazy notions where you think you need some kind of approval from my mom?”
I frown. Maybe he does understand.
“Babe.” He lifts me onto the counter. “My mom loves you, and you know that. You’re already part of the family.” He nuzzles my neck. “I mean, we’re getting married in three months. You have nothing to prove.”
“I know.” I frown and duck my head so he can’t see my eyes.
He notices and grabs my chin, forcing my head up. “Obviously you don’t, or you wouldn’t be going to this much trouble. We can pick up a pie at Wal-Mart or something. They’re always open.”
I gasp, flummoxed that he’d suggest such a thing. “We can’t bring a store bought pie.”
He chuckles. “No one will know the difference.”
I smack his arm lightly. “Oh, yes they will, and if they don’t, then I’ll know.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, hanging his head in mock-shame. The dimples in his cheeks appear, making him look more boyish than normal.
Ben exudes boy-next-door with his all-American good looks—blond hair, blue eyes, charming smile—and while I admit that his looks are what attracted me to him in the first place, it was his heart that made me stay. I’d never met anyone as kind and caring as Ben.
Kissing the end of my nose, he lifts me off the counter and sets me on the ground.
“We’ll do it together.”
I smile at that.
I know that attempting to bake a pie with Ben will make the whole process take a whole lot longer, but I suddenly don’t mind it; I know he’ll make it fun.
With all the ingredients needed already strewn across the counters, I begin to boss Ben around.
We work side by side, our laughter filling the kitchen.
I look up at him, and for a moment I’m taken aback by the fact that this guy is mine. We went to high school together, but while he was the popular jock, I was the mousy band geek. Cliché, I know, but love is. We ended up at the same college and ran into each other at a local coffee shop. He recognized me, and I’d been shocked he’d known my name. From there we started hanging out—one thing led to another and we ended up together. Now, we are in our late twenties, have bought our first house together, are getting married soon, and Ben is working to complete his residency to become a doctor while I have started my party planning business.
“Blaire?” He grins at me.
I duck my head, embarrassed that he caught me staring at him.
“Blaire,” he says again, this time more sternly. I feel his cool fingers on my chin and powdery flour sticks to my skin. His eyes roam over my face, almost like he’s searching for something. Finally, he says, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back.
He lowers his head and kisses me.
A fire ignites deep in my belly, and soon all thoughts of pie flee from my mind. His fingers dig into my hips and my body arches into his. My fingers wind into his hair, tugging him closer as his mouth dances over my lips. My insides are doing the cha-cha. Kissing Ben never gets old. Every time feels new and I swear I fall more in love with him, like his lips are tracing a road map straight to my heart.
“Fuck the pie,” he growls against my lips, and I giggle. He swipes his hand behind us, knocking everything on the counter to the floor, then lifts me onto the surface once more.
He fits himself in-between my legs and presses his lips to my neck.
My head drops back, giving him more access. His fingers skim under my loose t-shirt as he lifts it up over my head and drops it to the floor.
When he looks into my eyes, his are a dark blue, heated with lust.
His mouth is on mine again and his hands are pressing into my hips, keeping me from moving.
I know I should stop him, remind him that we need to go, but I don’t.