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“What would happen though if you couldn’t cook? What if you couldn’t be useful anymore? What if you couldn’t do things for people?”
She blinked. Tapped her fingers against her leg until he reached out and lightly grabbed her hand.
“What then, baby?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think everyone will stop liking you?”
Maybe. “You’re making me sound like a complete basket case.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. You found a way to earn affection in a house where there was little to come by, even if your aunt was never won over, your cousin and uncle liked your cooking. But now, you equate being useful or needed with being wanted or loved. You make people food because it makes them feel good and that makes you feel good. And that’s fine. But so long as you know that your value isn’t tied up in what you can give people.”
“I don’t understand.” Except she was worried that she did.
“Babe, you were up at two a.m. making brownies for someone who has probably said twenty words to you since you got here.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Why is that?”
She sighed. “I have trouble sleeping. Nightmares.”
He drew her back onto his lap. “From now on, whenever you get a nightmare you won’t be heading down to the kitchen to bake at some godforsaken hour, understand?”
“But it helps distract me,” she protested.
He leaned in and kissed her. He kissed her until she relaxed in his arms and her legs dropped away from her chest. “That’s my job now.”
“Oh. Okay.”
His lips twitched at her response.
“My brothers worship the ground you walk on. You think it’s about the food, and that’s all it might have been at the beginning. But not now. Now, they eat at the table and take their dirty boots off and will do whatever else you ask of them.”
“They’re just scared they’ll get cut off from my desserts.”
“Nope.” He stared down at her. “They do it because they adore you. Because you mean something to them. That bitch made you feel like an interloper, like you never belonged. She taught you to keep your needs on lockdown. I’m going to have to teach you how to ask for what you need.”
He was? It sounded like an impossible task.
“You go to poker nights, you know their favorite foods, you know their birthdays, you risk your life to pick their fool asses up and are ready to lie to the cops for them.”
She sucked in a breath.
“And because of all of that, we do this differently. This doesn’t stop at the bedroom door. My brothers have all been giving me hell because they think I did something that made you hole up in here. Sure, they miss your cooking. But they also miss you.”
“Oh.” It was the best she had.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I understand that you like to be in control all the time. You’re also a bossy bastard.”
He gave her a mock stern look. “That’s Sir bossy bastard to you.”
She gave him a wide smile.
“So you want to go all in? That means not all the rules that I give you are going to relate to what goes on in the bedroom. Like eating better.”
