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He was lying. Gus barely had sweat glands. He’d spent the past two summers complaining about how uncomfortable it was to bloat instead of sweat. But I appreciated the mood lift.
I pointed to the tray. “I made honey cakes. For our very brief honeymoon.” I lifted a teacake from the rose-patterned plate and offered it to him. His teeth sank into it, stirring the cinnamon and clove scented air, already sweetened with the delicate honeysuckle of my perfume, and darkened by the smoky amber of his cologne.
Golden syrup pooled in the corner of his mouth.
I couldn’t pull my eyes away from that spot on his lips, not even when his tongue licked it clean.
A fantasy flashed before my eyes. How good it would feel to climb up this giant bean stalk of a man, to pull his mouth close to mine and lick the honey off his lips.
My skin prickled with the gush of hot blood surging through my arteries. I fanned myself, suddenly noticing the sticky heat ofthe night air. I definitely had sweat glands, and they were working overtime.
“What shape is this?” He was squinting to examine one.
“Oh, uh… they’re tombstones. I wanted them to be little cakelets, and that was the only pan I had. Just pretend it’s something romantic.”
He laughed and took a bite. “Really good. I never knew you cooked and baked so well.”
“I live in a tiny town with not many takeout options. I have to cook. Plus, I learned from, well… you-know-who.”
“So, what happened to—”
“They’re not Greek, you know. Honeymoons. Everyone thinks they are. The common misconception is that, after a wedding, the couple would go off together for a month. A moon. Everyone would bring them cakes and honey to sustain them during their period of wedded bliss. In reality, it’s probably a Celtic custom. The couple would be given a month’s worth of mead—honey wine—in the hopes that they’d get drunk enough to conceive a child early on. Improved the odds of assuring paternity in a time when women had very little choice in whom they married.”
“That’s grim. But if you want to avoid answering questions, just tell me. You don’t have to change the subject.”
“I’m not avoiding anything.”
His amused look turned tender. “Dec, do you mind my asking what happened to your granny? You had no family at the wedding today.”
“That’s not true. The people who mattered to me were standing right next to me.”
“Bethany and Soula.”
“Yes.”
“Your momand dad?”
I shook my head.Four of Swords, reversed strikes again.“I don’t want to talk about it tonight.”
“Do you... want to talk about mead and honey cakes and what exactly that signifies?”
I shook my head again. Then nodded. “I don’t know.” I didn’t know anything anymore. I was so full of emotion. All the emotion. Lust, sadness, hope. All swirling together in an uncomfortable cesspool of grossness.
“Aren’t we supposed to smash cake in each other’s faces?” He picked up another oozing tea cake. “I’ll let you go first, but you have to help me get it all out of my beard later.” He winked.
I’d forgotten Gus was a winker. Not in any sleazy way. His winking was always done to reassure and tease in a really sweet way. It made me melt.
He took the plate and sat in one of the Adirondack chairs, leaning back and relaxing into the heavy wood frame. “Come sit with me?”
“There’s no room.”
He smiled patiently. “That’s kind of the point.”
“Oh. I don’t think—”
“I do. I think we need this. A little intimacy. I think you’ll feel a little less skittish, but it’s just a hypothesis. I want to test it. Please?” he added at the end to soften his commanding tone.
I blew out a slow breath, shaking the tension out of my arms. If we were going to try to make this real, now was as good a time as any to start.
