Page 167 of Stranger to Love

“Are you going to let me in?” Carrie smirked.

Nope. I didn’t care that I was only in my socks. I stepped out onto the path, forcing her to step back in amusement as I pulled the door shut behind me. I basically attacked her. She didn't drop the suit bag or lose her footing, but she eagerly indulged me, cupping my face and kissing me like I needed her oxygen to breathe. When I finally pulled back, she was breathless, shaking her head.

“Oh,” she cleared her throat, her eyes dark. “One would think you’ve missed me.”

“I’ve missed you desperately,” I smirked, hooking my fingers into her belt loops to pull her flush against me.

“Alex,” she warned, though her voice was soft. I sighed. Yeah, I knew. Not now.

I let her go but caught the tip of her nose with a quick kiss before leading her inside. My dad was in the kitchen putting the kettle on, a knowing smirk on his face. “I thought I was going to have to throw a bucket of water over the pair of you.”

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to blush, and gave him a playful shove. “Shut up.”

Carrie neatly lined up her boots in the hallway—it was so cute how she tried to maintain an air of order even in our chaotic little house. She joined us in the kitchen, the suit bag now draped over her arm. “So, Phil. I have a few options for you. Would you like to try them on before or after lunch?”

“Maybe after,” I interjected with a grin. “Just to make sure they still fit after he’s had his fill.”

Dad pointed a teaspoon at me threateningly. “You’re pushing your luck, girl.”

Carrie caught my eye, a private spark of mischief in her gaze, as she draped the bag carefully over the banister. “After lunch it is, then.”

She wandered into the lounge, greeting my Mum with an ease that suggested she had been doing this for years. I watched her go, realisation hitting me like a physical weight. This was life then. My parents, her, and me.

God, I was so stupidly in love with this woman.

Lunch was a simple affair—a basic pasta bake that Mum and I had thrown together—but Carrie ate it like it was a five-course meal at the Savoy, engaging Dad in a conversation about the nuances of soil pH that had him beaming.

When we were finished, she didn't let me lift a finger alone. She insisted on helping clear the plates, following me into our cramped kitchen. As soon as we were out of my parents' line of sight, she leaned in, stealing a quick, firm kiss that tasted like home. Tingles all over.

"I've got the drying," she murmured, snapping a tea towel over her shoulder with an efficiency that made me grin.

I plunged my hands into the soapy water, scrubbing at the pasta dish. The kitchen was so small we were practically hip-to-hip, her shoulder brushing mine every time she reached for a plate. She surveyed the tiny counter space, the mismatched tiles, and the ancient drying rack with a thoughtful, calculating hum.

"You know," Carrie said, her smirk audible even though I was looking at the bubbles. "If this kitchen were just a few feet wider, I would insist on buying you a dishwasher. It’s a tragedy that you have to scrub these by hand."

I scoffed, flicking a bit of foam at her arm. I turned to look at her, my expression a mix of amusement and a very clear warning. "Carrie, do not. Do not 'insist' on just buying a whole new house for us that happens to come with a built-in dishwasher."

She didn't even look guilty. She just caught the foam with the towel, her eyes twinkling with that dangerous, playful wealth of hers.

"Spoilsport," she mutters, though the look she gave me was pure, unadulterated affection. "I’m only trying to optimise your time, Alex. Think of the extra minutes we’d have for... other activities."

I rolled my eyes, though my heart was doing that familiar, frantic skip. "We’re doing the fashion show for Dad, and then you’re leaving for a bit so I can actually get some work done before my shift. No 'activities' whilst my parents are very much awake, Dr. Carter."

"We'll see about that," she whispered, her hand grazing the small of my back as she reached for the next plate.

It wasn't fair. I wasn't a sex addict, but a week without Carrie had been actual torture. If I weren't worried about my parents thinking I was a complete whore, I’d have dragged her upstairs right that second.

As the last plate was tucked away, Carrie didn't move. She boxed me in against the counter, her arms sliding around my waist to pull me flush against her. I let out a breathless chuckle, shimmying out of her embrace before I lost my resolve entirely.

"No," I said, trying to sound firm. "Dad needs to try these suits on now, or I’m going to be late for my shift."

Carrie let out a low, theatrical groan, her lips grazing the shell of my ear. "If you would just quit that job, Alex, imagine the plans we could be making for tonight."

I groaned right back, the temptation of it tugging at me. I indulged for a second, dropping my forehead onto her shoulder and breathing her in. "You’re impossible."

"I am in love," she countered softly, the sheer sincerity in her voice catching me off guard.

I shivered, the weight of the words anchoring me to the floor. "Me too," I whispered into the crook of her neck. "Come on. Suit time."