Kristen Proby is one of those authors that I have wanted to read for ages but for some reason or another, I keep not reading her stuff. The cover for All the Way caught my eye and then the blurb captured my attention so I’m really looking forward to reading this book and I’m super thrilled to be featuring this book on today’s Sunday Spotlight.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say I had a crush on the sexy Finn Cavanaugh.
Strike that. I do have a crush on Finn. What’s not to like? He’s kind, funny, loves his family, and looks like that.
So I’m going to spend as much time as I can with him, since he’s been the best thing to come into my life since the fire, since the day in his office with my brother, since trying to heal from it all.
He brings a smile to my face and makes me want to climb him like a damn tree, and that’s a good feeling.
I take a deep breath and, with a smile, walk into the house to get breakfast started. I had planned to just have a bagel and some egg whites, but now that’s changed up a bit. I love to cook, especially for others, so I pull my hair up in a messy bun and stand in the middle of my white kitchen, getting my wits about me.
I could make omelets, or pancakes, or biscuits and gravy.
I buy way too many groceries.
I smirk at myself and decide on biscuits and gravy with home fries and scrambled eggs. It’s a heavy breakfast, but it’s also delicious, and I want to feed him something especially delicious.
“Like me,” I mutter, and then laugh. Oh, the dreams I’ve been having about Finn the past few nights have been one hundred percent pornographic. I wake up hot and bothered, and not just a little sexually frustrated.
I jump at the soft knock on the back glass door, and turn to find Finn standing there in another pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt, his hair wet from a shower, grinning at me through the glass.
I motion for him to come in, and stir the biscuit batter.
“I hope you worked up an appetite on that run,” I begin as he walks toward me. “I’m making a feast.”
“I’m hungry,” he says in a gruff voice, making me glance up at him. He’s staring at me with hot eyes. Not just hot. Scorching. Like he wants to do me on the kitchen counter.
I’m not against that in the least.
“Hungry for biscuits and gravy?” I swallow hard.
“We can start there,” he says. “You’re making it from scratch?”
“Of course.” I set the batter aside and gather more supplies. “Isn’t that how everyone does it?”
“No, I buy those biscuits in the roll that always scares the shit out of me when I bust it open.”
I chuckle as I roll the dough out and cut it into circles. “Well, no scaring the shit out of you today. These don’t take long.”
“Do you need any help?”
“Nope.” I pop the pan in the oven and get started on cutting potatoes. “Actually, yes. How are you at cutting potatoes?”
“I’m a champion potato chopper,” he informs me, and takes the knife from me. “I’ve got this.”
“Do you like to cook?” I try to keep my eyes off of his strong hands and muscly forearms as he chops up the potatoes. Why is it that everything he does is sexy?
It’s not exactly fair.
“I do,” he replies. “I just don’t always have time for it.”
“I don’t either, but it seems I have nothing but time lately.” I shrug and throw the potatoes in a pan so they can start frying while I get the gravy going. “I’ve been cooking way more than I can eat.”
“How are you feeling?” he asks casually.
“Better,” I reply, happy to be able to finally say that truthfully. “I still have moments when it hurts, but I think the walking is better, and my range of motion is coming back. My physical therapist is happy with the progress, but I think it’s too slow.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” he says, and I just shake my head.
“That’s what he says too. Being physical is what I’ve always done. Dance, theater, is physically demanding, and I’ve always been in excellent shape. So having lost so much of my endurance is disappointing.”
“You’ll get it back,” he says with confidence, and I look up to find him smiling at me, his brown eyes happy. “You’re too stubborn to do otherwise.”
“Boy, that’s the truth.” I pull the biscuits out of the oven. “I know that I probably won’t be able to work the way I used to. They’ve already recast my old part, which, let me tell you, will tear your heart right out of your chest.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
“And I’m not young, Finn.” I’m just talking now, talking about my career, my fears, and it feels like the easiest thing to do with him. I haven’t confided like this with anyone. Not even Sasha.
“You’re only thirty-two.”
“That’s old for theater. Especially in musicals. There are girls more than ten years younger than me fighting for the same parts, and they’re in better shape, and it’s easier for them to keep up with the rigorous schedule.”
“Have you seen Hugh Jackman in the musical movies he makes?” Finn asks. “That guy’s almost fifty.”
“He’s a man,” I reply simply. “Men are given better roles, longer into their lives. It sucks, but it’s true. But I’ve changed my attitude a bit. I was convinced before that I wouldn’t be able to get back to work, but now I’m determined to do exactly that.”
“Would you consider doing film? I don’t know anything about show business, but I would think that might be less rigorous.”
“I hadn’t before.” I stop and lean my hip against the countertop, irritated that my leg is starting to ache from being on it too long. “But I could talk to my agent and see what she thinks. She’s come to me before with scripts, but I have always had a steady job in New York.”
“Might be something to consider,” he says casually. “You’re hurting right now.”
“Not too badly.”
“Look at me.” He grips my shoulders and makes me look him in the eyes. “You’re hurting.”
“Yeah, it’s aching.”
“Sit.” He leads me to the stool on the other side of the island. “I’ve got this handled.”