The Paper Wife’s Empire novel Chapter 115

A faint, almost imperceptible flush crept up Ethan’s cheeks, but he quickly nodded, careful not to let Ramona see.

“Have you had dinner yet?” Ramona asked suddenly.

“I have,” Ethan replied.

Only then did Ramona relax, though she couldn’t shake off the guilt for making him wait so long. The moment she finished speaking, she dashed into the kitchen with visible excitement.

“What would you like to drink? I’ve got coffee, tea, or maybe something a little more special?”

Hearing her, Ethan followed her into the kitchen. From behind, he watched as her slender waist swayed, her movements light as she opened the fridge and various cabinets, fetching things back and forth. She moved with such grace that her waist seemed almost serpentine—supple and agile.

When he saw Ramona stretch on tiptoe to reach something, Ethan stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, reaching up over her shoulder. “Is it this one you’re looking for?”

He’d spotted a few cans of sparkling water, their packaging bright and unfamiliar.

“Yes!” Ramona nodded eagerly.

Ethan’s height made it effortless; he retrieved the can and set it down within her reach.

“...Thank you.”

Ramona glanced back at him with a smile, and as she turned, she realized they were practically in each other’s arms again. Their bodies were so close, she could feel his breath, almost as if they were about to kiss.

“Your cabinets are pretty tall,” Ethan said, his gaze dropping to her lips.

Ramona’s fingers curled around the can. Clearing her throat, she replied, “They are, aren’t they? So, what will you have to drink?”

Ethan was about to say, “Anything’s fine,” but his eyes landed on a collection of colorful little bottles stacked on the bar, lots of them looked like liquor.

Ramona’s “special drinks” must be cocktails.

“You know how to mix drinks?” he asked.

“A little,” Ramona said, holding her fingers a short distance apart. “You can think of it as a homemade cocktail.”

“Then I’ll try whatever you make,” Ethan said.

“Alright!”

Ramona’s toolkit was complete, and her mixing style was anything but amateur—her steps were precise, her movements practiced. She shook the cocktail shaker for quite some time before pouring out two drinks, each a different color.

One was a pale blue, the other a delicate pink.

She slid the blue drink to Ethan. “Want to try it?”

Ramona remembered Ethan didn’t care for sweet things, so she’d left out the sugar entirely.

Ethan’s long, deft fingers picked up the glass and he took a generous sip. He winced slightly at the chill, but the taste was crisp and refreshing.

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