Andrea George :
She wasn’t supposed to want him.
Not like this.
Not so much that she’d start rearranging her entire day around the possibility of bumping into him. Not so much that she'd feel the weight of his absence when he wasn’t there. Not so much that she’d start dreaming full-bodied, wicked, uninvited dreams about hands she'd never even really felt.
And yet, here she was.
Wanting.
Andrea stood at the edge of the kitchen, the stainless steel surfaces gleaming under the last fingers of dying light. Everything was ready. The trays covered, the garnishes prepped, the sauces held at a low simmer. She had no reason to linger.
And yet she did.
Her hands, restless at her sides, finally pushed her toward the patio doors. She stepped outside without thinking, drawn toward the openne
