Read Online Wildflower (Colors #4) by Jessica Prince - Free Book Online
Authors: Jessica Prince
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this mean we’re friends?”
“Not friends. Acquaintances,” I amended quickly. There was no doubt in my mind I wouldn’t be able to handle a friendship with Noah. I might have agreed to a sort of truce, but friendship was way beyond my comfort zone. It wasn’t even in the realm of possibility.
“Acquaintances,” Noah agreed with a nod. “I can handle that.” He took my hand in his, giving it a good shake, and the instant our skin touched, a bolt of electricity shot through my fingertips and up my arm, ricocheting through my entire body and heating me from the inside out.
Oh, God. So not good , I thought as goose bumps broke out across my skin. The electric jolt stunned me speechless, frozen in place as we stared into each other’s eyes.
Noah’s deep voice broke through the thrum of blood in my ears. “Something’s burning.”
Something was most definitely on fire, and no amount of cold water was going to put out the flames coursing through my veins. “Yeah,” I said on a breath, my brain still short circuiting from just that one touch.
A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of Noah’s mouth before he spoke again, effectively breaking the spell holding me captive. “No, I mean something’s really burning. I think it might be your turkey.”
I sniffed. Sure enough, the smell of scorched food was filling the kitchen.
“Shit!”
“Well, I’m just gonna say it. Throw it out there, you know, like ripping off a Band-Aid,” Chloe declared, her eyes bouncing to every person at the table. “Babe, you know I love you, but you can’t cook for shit and should never, ever be allowed in the kitchen again.”
Ethan muttered a quiet, “Amen,” as I choked on my laughter. Or maybe that was the gravy I’d just tasted that had the consistency of Jell-O in my mouth. Harlow simply glared like she was trying to melt her face off.
Chloe had shown up just seconds after we managed to save the bird from combusting and causing yet another kitchen fire. It took several seconds for her to get over her initial shock of seeing Harlow and I in the same room together, but once she took in the utter destruction around us, her focus shifted to what had once been considered edible food. Unfortunately, Harlow having cranked the oven up as high as it would go meant that the turkey dried out in a way I hadn’t known possible. Think of it as a piece of old, ragged shoe leather that had been laid in the street and run over a million times. I was willing to lay money that even my old dog, Blue, would have refused to eat this shit. And he once ate a dirty diaper he’d found in the neighbor’s trashcan. There was a reason the poor dog—God rest his soul—wasn’t around anymore.
The food was that bad.
And because I was trying to win back the love of my life, I couldn’t risk insulting her cooking skills, so I was forced to shove what I could down my gullet and fake a smile with every bite. I learned quickly that holding my breath, opening my throat, and letting the food slide down without chewing was the safest way to go. Followed quickly by several gulps of water to wash the taste away. From the way the dinner was sitting like a lead ball in the pit of my stomach, it was a safe bet I would be spending the remainder of my night in intense pain.
Fingers crossed that a visit to the ER wouldn’t be necessary.
To add insult to injury, Derrick—the bastard—had been texting pictures of all the food his current sheet-warmer had cooked up for him. It was sad, but looking at all that deliciousness kind of made me want to cry.
“The oven’s broken,” Harlow insisted dryly as she sucked back another mouthful of wine. Apparently ruining Thanksgiving dinner was reason enough for her to hit the bottle, and hit it hard. We’d only sat down about twenty minutes before and half the bottle was already gone.
Leaning forward, Ethan took a sniff of the green bean casserole and scrunched his nose up in distaste. “The green beans smell
“Not friends. Acquaintances,” I amended quickly. There was no doubt in my mind I wouldn’t be able to handle a friendship with Noah. I might have agreed to a sort of truce, but friendship was way beyond my comfort zone. It wasn’t even in the realm of possibility.
“Acquaintances,” Noah agreed with a nod. “I can handle that.” He took my hand in his, giving it a good shake, and the instant our skin touched, a bolt of electricity shot through my fingertips and up my arm, ricocheting through my entire body and heating me from the inside out.
Oh, God. So not good , I thought as goose bumps broke out across my skin. The electric jolt stunned me speechless, frozen in place as we stared into each other’s eyes.
Noah’s deep voice broke through the thrum of blood in my ears. “Something’s burning.”
Something was most definitely on fire, and no amount of cold water was going to put out the flames coursing through my veins. “Yeah,” I said on a breath, my brain still short circuiting from just that one touch.
A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of Noah’s mouth before he spoke again, effectively breaking the spell holding me captive. “No, I mean something’s really burning. I think it might be your turkey.”
I sniffed. Sure enough, the smell of scorched food was filling the kitchen.
“Shit!”
“Well, I’m just gonna say it. Throw it out there, you know, like ripping off a Band-Aid,” Chloe declared, her eyes bouncing to every person at the table. “Babe, you know I love you, but you can’t cook for shit and should never, ever be allowed in the kitchen again.”
Ethan muttered a quiet, “Amen,” as I choked on my laughter. Or maybe that was the gravy I’d just tasted that had the consistency of Jell-O in my mouth. Harlow simply glared like she was trying to melt her face off.
Chloe had shown up just seconds after we managed to save the bird from combusting and causing yet another kitchen fire. It took several seconds for her to get over her initial shock of seeing Harlow and I in the same room together, but once she took in the utter destruction around us, her focus shifted to what had once been considered edible food. Unfortunately, Harlow having cranked the oven up as high as it would go meant that the turkey dried out in a way I hadn’t known possible. Think of it as a piece of old, ragged shoe leather that had been laid in the street and run over a million times. I was willing to lay money that even my old dog, Blue, would have refused to eat this shit. And he once ate a dirty diaper he’d found in the neighbor’s trashcan. There was a reason the poor dog—God rest his soul—wasn’t around anymore.
The food was that bad.
And because I was trying to win back the love of my life, I couldn’t risk insulting her cooking skills, so I was forced to shove what I could down my gullet and fake a smile with every bite. I learned quickly that holding my breath, opening my throat, and letting the food slide down without chewing was the safest way to go. Followed quickly by several gulps of water to wash the taste away. From the way the dinner was sitting like a lead ball in the pit of my stomach, it was a safe bet I would be spending the remainder of my night in intense pain.
Fingers crossed that a visit to the ER wouldn’t be necessary.
To add insult to injury, Derrick—the bastard—had been texting pictures of all the food his current sheet-warmer had cooked up for him. It was sad, but looking at all that deliciousness kind of made me want to cry.
“The oven’s broken,” Harlow insisted dryly as she sucked back another mouthful of wine. Apparently ruining Thanksgiving dinner was reason enough for her to hit the bottle, and hit it hard. We’d only sat down about twenty minutes before and half the bottle was already gone.
Leaning forward, Ethan took a sniff of the green bean casserole and scrunched his nose up in distaste. “The green beans smell
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