“Uh.” I eyed Rosalie. “I could eat.”
A faint pink tint colored her cheeks, and Anson narrowed his eyes at me.
I winked at him, hoping it pissed him off, but not so much that it pissed Rosalie off more.
“I can make you something,” Rosalie said, sitting forward.
“Yeah?” I perked up. “Enzo too?”
Rosalie’s gaze slid from me to Enzo, who turned to look back at her. Enzo used to love cooking with Rosalie. And he loved her food. He’d mentioned a number of times over the years how much he missed it.
“Um, sure,” she said, focusing back on me. “What would you like?”
“Anything?”
She smiled. “Yes. Anything.”
“Lasagna?” I asked hopefully, praying my big, pretty blue eyes got my point across as I blinked at her.
She chuckled, got up, and passed me to go into the kitchen. I grabbed her hand in passing and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed it back, making my heart dance happily in my chest.
I smirked at Anson, who rolled his eyes at me. I flopped onto the chair in the living room.
“She probably doesn’t cook for you, huh? Tough break,” I said.
He snorted. “Please, Scott. You know that’s bullshit. You know how Rosalie is. She’d never let anyone she loved cook for themselves.”
I grumbled at him and turned on the TV. An action flick was playing.
I glanced over to the kitchen to see Rosalie taking a pot from Enzo.
Fuck, please…
I wasn’t sure what I even wanted, but something.
All I knew was that I was halfway to getting my family back.
Enzo just needed to give in because I knew E would in a heartbeat.
So, once again…
Fuck, please…
54
ROSALIE
“Can I help with anything?” Enzo asked softly as I placed homemade bread into a pan. It was a quicker bread recipe, but my guys loved it, so I figured I’d make it here.
Enzo was in his pajamas, his black hair messy. He almost looked like how I remembered him, except now he was bigger and tattooed.
It was odd to see him so casual. He was always in an expensive tailored suit these days, so for him to be wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a plain t-shirt, well, it made butterflies wiggle in my guts.
And they had no business doing that, all things considered.
So I pushed the butterflies down and stomped on them.
“Um, can you make a salad?” I asked.
