CHAPTER EIGHT

ALICE

On Wednesday, I bring a generous wedge of strawberry pie to share. It’s not the neatest dessert, but it’s my favorite. Plus, I got lucky and scored a prime quart of strawberries. Besides missing the warm weather, the lack of good strawberries also bums me out. And now I have another reason to dislike the rapidly cooling temperatures. It will mean an end to my lunches in the park and meeting up with Marcus here.

When I walk to the bench, we met at last week, he’s already there sitting and waiting for me. He’s dressed in a long-sleeved dark forest green polo shirt and faded blue jeans. His wide shoulders and broad chest are so powerful that it makes his lower body look undersized by comparison.

A flush rises on my cheeks as I wonder what he looks like under those clothes. I’ve never been with a man with a physical disability before. Over the weekend, I looked at a few things online and they left me with more questions.

Is Marcus even capable of having sex?

And if he’s not, how do I feel about that?

Seeing the bright smile on his face at my approach, a pang of desire pulls at me. Oh, I hope sex isn’t out of the question because I want Marcus.

It should embarrass me how much I’m attracted to him, but instead I keep hearing grammy’s words about him being my match echoing in my head. If he really is my match, it makes sense to be so drawn to the moody man.

Though I do have to question how Grammy Brooke came to that conclusion about a man she never even met!

Striding up to Marcus, I answer his smile with one of my own and plop down on the bench next to him. Sitting far closer than the last time we sat together. My thigh bumps up against his and I freeze.

“Sorry.”

Cocking his head, puzzlement pulls his thick brows together before he looks down at where our legs are touching.

“It’s fine,” he says slowly, patting at his leg. “I don’t think you can hurt me.”

He points to his green insulated lunch bag on the other side of him. “Notice I’m not eating yet.”

I roll my eyes even while holding back a chuckle. I like his somewhat snarky sense of humor, but I’m not going to let him know that.

At least not just yet.

“And you’re even on time today,” I say, looking at him from under my eyelashes as I pull the strawberry pie out of my bag. I offer him the container.

“What’s this?” he asks, holding up the container and eyeing the red pie within like it might be dangerous.

Holding up two forks, I grin. “Strawberry pie. Let’s dig in!”

Marcus is a bit of a pie hog.

I don’t hold that against him and let him have the last forkful, relishing the pleased look on his face, while wishing I had the courage to lean forward and kiss away the bit of gooey red filling dotting the corner of his lips.

“That was delicious.”

“So good you want to save some for later?” I tease.

His eyes drop to the scraped clean container, and I laugh. When his eyes snap to mine, I point to the corner of my own mouth.

He gets the idea and knuckles the spot clean, and I mourn my missed opportunity.

I never realized how much I depended upon men to make the first move on dates. Ours was probably the first I ever had that I hadn’t been kissed.

It made me wonder what was holding Marcus back.

“Are you a cancer?”

Setting the empty container next to him, he turned his head slowly. “Excuse me?”

“Cancer? Your astrology sign.”

Deep brackets slash the sides of his mouth as he frowns. “I never paid attention to that. Why?”

“What’s your birthday?”

Marcus crosses his arms and keeps his lips pinched shut.

“Come on and humor me,” I plead. And when that doesn’t work, I resort to guilt. “I fed you pie.”

He lowers his arms. “It was incredibly good pie.”

I beam. “It was my grammy’s recipe.”

“You made that?”

Laughing, I rub my elbow against his side. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Sorry, it’s just with your line of work that I’m surprised you have the time to bake.”

I could see how he’d think that. “The company I work for is big on work/life balance. I do put in some late nights on occasion, but the weekends, barring any major crisis, are wholly mine.”

“You’re very fortunate.”

That I’m fully aware of. We sit and stare at each other before I give his side another gentle dig. “You still didn’t tell me your birthday.”

His deep, rich laughter rolls over me and a shiver of want works through my body.

“I was hoping you had forgotten.”

“Why? Is it some super-secret? Are all your passwords set to it?” I slap a hand to my cheek. “The ego you have Marcus, oh my.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m not that foolish, Ms. IT specialist.”

“That’s Ms. Assistant Director. Thank you very much.”

Still chuckling, his arm presses a little harder against mine and that want that’s still moving through me skyrockets at the connection.

“It’s July first.”

In my excitement, I turn my body, and his left arm presses right in between my breasts. We both freeze. Wide eyes lock on each other’s.

Slowly, he lifts his right hand and grazes his fingers along the curve of my cheek. “Alice?” he murmurs.

My eyelids lower at his warm touch. “Hmmm…”

“What is this?”

At his question, I fully open my eyes. “Umm… lunch?”

“No.” He feathers a thumb along my lower lip before withdrawing his hand and gesturing between the two of us. “This, you and me.”

I slide my tongue along my lip, heat pooling in my core from the way his green gaze follows my tongue’s movements. “I’m not sure,” I admit in a husky whisper.

Marcus angles his upper body, slipping his arm around my waist, his large hand cupping the top of my hip. “My social calendar is pretty full and I’m not getting any younger.”

“Neither am I.”

Those dark pink lips of his loom closer and I can feel his breath puffing lightly against my mouth. “I was joking,” he says, staring deeply into my eyes.

“Me too.”

He tightens his arm around me, drawing me closer against him as he reaches out and cups my jaw. His face lowers until our mouths are almost flush, but still he holds back.

I part my lips, about to beg him just to kiss me when his mouth slowly bridges the remaining distance and presses sweetly to mine.

Softly and hesitantly, his mouth moves over mine. His tongue glides along the seam of my lips and a moan builds in my throat as I open to him.

He tastes of strawberries and mint, reminding me of summer. I clutch the sides of his shirt as we kiss, and I ache to get even closer. All too soon he breaks the kiss and pulls away, his breath puffing from between his moist, parted lips as his wide eyes regard me.

“We’re dating,” he says firmly.

All I can do is nod.

“Dinner, tomorrow at my house. I’ll text you the address.”

I blink at his bluntness.

A quick grin curls up his lips. “This time I need to eat and run. I have an appointment.”

“We didn’t even eat our lunch,” I protest.

Marcus quickly hands me the empty strawberry pie container and transfers himself back to his wheelchair.

“We had pie and something far sweeter,” he says, giving me another grin.

“Tomorrow?” he prompts.

“Yes.”

He positions his legs and then he’s off without another word.

Watching him go, I notice people giving him a wide berth as he rolls past.

He’s not at all who I envisioned myself falling for.

Surprisingly I’m unbothered by that and pull out my lunch and phone even though I know I’ll do nothing but think about that kiss and his declaration that we were now dating the rest of not only my lunch break but also probably until I see him again.

Tomorrow. At his house.

Heat blazes in my face as I flash back to my earlier musings about if he could have sex or not. Perhaps I’d be finding out the answer to that question soon.