second book in the Evelyn Black series
• • mature - language, drugs, alcohol, themes of sex • •
NEXT BOOK: Back to Hope
• slow slow-burn (like years) friends to lovers •
• soft burn romance •
[ all books listed in prologue via chronological order ]
...
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"Darling, let me—"
She turns to face him, the large box immediately taken from her grasp. "Hey!"
"You shouldn't be carrying this, love," he advises calmly, his eyes narrowing into hers.
She lays a hand on her bulging stomach, the paisley green pattern resting loosely overtop. "I'm perfectly capable," she tells him.
George shakes his head at her and chuckles. "You're carrying precious cargo, my love." He twists to set the box onto a small, round table. When he faces her again, he reaches to rest his hand over hers. "I can't have you trying to be all mighty around here," he whispers. His fingers gently trace down her stomach as he leans in as close to her face as he can while still keeping a clear vision of her.
She pouts out her bottom lip, drawing the boy's attention down her face for a flickering moment. The air around them shrinks, though it becomes warmer as well in a way.
His hair is short, nearly buzzed up the sides but looser on the top. His jumper was fitted to his filled torso, but his sleeves were pushed up so his wrists and forearms were free.
He was different, but it felt so familiar.
"My cargo, my rules," she offers jokingly.
"My cargo, isn't it?" He questions just as wittily.
Her head tilts. "Huh," she falters, "I thought this one was Fred's..."
George's brow quirks. "Your memory's gone faint, love-bug," he tells her. He tucks her hair behind her ear with his free hand before softening his gaze again, this time with a cheeky glint in his brown gaze. "Maybe I need to take you upstairs to jog your memory about how this," he pats her belly gently, "happened."
It draws a laugh from her chest; her hands swing around his neck as her head falls back in her amusement.
Everything was right.
Perfect.
+++
Gasping in through her stuffy nose, Evelyn nearly coughs from the lack of oxegyn her body was intending, pulling her upright in her bed, gasping for a moment as she catches up; her mouth is dry, her lips are chapped... deffinately not any similar state of health she was moments ago in her dream.
Perfect...
Jumbled bits and pieces and pictures of the scene that just played a little too loudly in her brain's theatre makes her physically pause in place. Her mouth is gaped as the dream reels through her again at four-times speed— every odd detail and feeling is accounted for, the smell of him sweeps through her nose, the way his fingers held her so gently... even the memory of the bump becomes a phantom presence to her body.
