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He growls and nips at my lips as if what I’ve said displeases him.
The place between my legs ache and I step forward into Davis’s arms, shifting my hips against him. “Let’s be us from back then. Just for a little while.” His eyes are dark as they scan my face. “It felt good. It felt right.”
“Too goddamn right,” he says on a deep groan.He drops his forehead to mine. Then, with one quick move, he spins me around and presses me up against the island.
My self-respect, my determination to figure out what we are, takes a back seat the minute Davis spreads his palms over my hips and whispers in my ear, “Hands on the counter, Cupcake.”
“Oh,” I breathe, eyes wide.
His long fingers dip to tease at my waistband before they disappear inside the front of my leggings.
I’m panting now, my good hand curled to a fist.
Two of Davis’s clever fingers dip into me. Warm mouth on my neck, he groans. “Look how fucking gorgeous you are dripping your need for me.”
My breath catches at his words. At the smooth rhythm he creates with his fingers. The gentle thrust and roll has me following it with my hips. His touch reminds me I deserve the brightest light of happiness. Everything good and safe and healthy.
Davis presses himself so tight against me I feel his hardness. His breath tickles my ear as he breathes, “Spread your legs, Dakota.”
Like it’s a natural, gravitational pull, Davis’s free hand moves to my belly. My skin ripples and I hitch a breath. Davis’s fingers fan out like he’s trying to capture the last of the movement before he unzips his jeans. I swivel my hips, urging him along. So needy, so desperate for this man.
As I glance over the kitchen, a laugh bubbles up inside me. Dirty dishes forgotten. Frosting smeared across the counter.
I moan and cover my face. “I’ll never be able to bake cupcakes without thinking of you,” I say, my body pressed down so low I can smell fresh lemon and thyme.
“I know it,” he rumbles in my ear. “I want you to fucking remember that, Cupcake.”
With that, Davis slips into me.
And everything falls away.
We’re those kids from what seems like a lifetime ago. Fucking in the cabin, screwing around under the entire town’s noses, me thinking he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
And just like I did back then, I go with the flow.
At least until this baby is born.
Until Davis Montgomery breaks my heart all over again.
February turns to March. I get my cast off, leaving my arm pale and withered. The snow melts and the first buds of spring unfurl on the apple trees. I go into my twenty-fifth week. My baby’s now the size of a head of lettuce and he–or–she rolls around in there like a tumbleweed. I restock The Corner Store with cinnamon rolls and fill notebooks with new recipes. I work on Ruby’s cake, but it’s still not perfect.
I call the insurance company, ask about my claim. They’re still working on it. I call Aiden’s work. Every Monday, he’s there at the agency. With that comes relief. He gave up, he let me go.
It seems too good to be true.
But I’ll take it.
For a long time, it felt like I couldn’t wake up. But with no sign of Aiden, I feel like I’m slowly easing into life. A better life that could be mine if I only let it.
One Friday after my shift at The Corner Store, I stroll down Main Street, a box of bread loaves in my arms for our local food bank, Beartooth Cupboards. The baby kicks and the box against my belly bounces as I head inside.
“Hi.” The woman at the front desk slides a sign-in sheet toward me.
In return, I slide the box of bread onto the counter. “Hi. This is for you. Donation.”
“Need a receipt?” the woman asks, giving me a head-to-toe scan.
“Nope,” I say, shifting away from her eyes on my belly. Soon, I won’t be able to hide it.
