Naughty Brits

by Sarah MacLean

The kind of easy that made a girl wonder what it would be like to wake up on Sunday mornings with him. To make Sunday dinner with him. To take after-dinner walks with him. To tumble into bed with him and do it all over again on Monday.

“You like to cook, then?” he asked, and I had to laugh, even as I felt my cheeks heat with the familiar embarrassment of admitting that, yes, I was a human person who enjoyed food. As if that wasn’t completely normal and universal. Maybe skinny women didn’t worry about it? I wouldn’t know.

I was a healthy woman with lots of curves. It had taken some work, but I didn’t hate the way I looked. However, I wasn’t enough of a dreamer to delude myself that the rest of the world felt the same. I’d been hearing comments pretty much my entire life about how I’d be so sexy if I only lost twenty pounds, or how I had pretty hair or pretty eyes, because no one who was on the plus side of the scale could ever just be pretty, right?

Like her books, where knowing the ending wouldn’t let you down allowed you to enjoy the journey.