Page 44 of Restored Dreams

Turning in Lily’s arms is my son. My goddamn kid. His arms wrap around the waist of Lily. Her hand still presses one of his cheeks.

“Are you fucking my son?” It’s a totally irrational question, and Chopper spins out of Lily’s arms, placing his body in front of hers in a protective stance. He’s clearly familiar with her.

“How dare you?” Lily hisses.

“Dad,” Chopper growls. “That is just so wrong. She’s my aunt.”

The label lingers between us. Yes, Lily is his aunt. That’s right. His mother is Lily’s sister. Of course, he isn’t fucking her. My brain takes a moment to register the impossibility of Chopper and Lily together, but then a new question arises.

“How the hell do you—”

“Who the hell are you?” A short, cappuccino-toned woman with wild curls to her chin rounds past Lily and Chopper. Holding up two cake knives, she crosses them in front of her as though she’s placing a hex on me.

Ignoring her, I address my son. “And what the hell are you doing here?” Before Chopper answers me, Lily steps forward, placing herself between my son and her feisty worker.

“Brut, I think you need to leave.” Her soft tone nearly brings me to my knees. We have so much to discuss, like how long she has known my son and when will I see her again. My heart races inside my chest, but I’m not getting anywhere near Lily with ninja-bakery girl and my kid behind her.

“We need to talk,” I say, a plea in my voice.

“We will, but not now.” Lily looks down at her hands, wringing them. I’ve never seen her so nervous. I don’t feel settled by her words, but I know when I’ve been dismissed. I turn for the door, slamming it open with my palm and hearing it rock back on the metal behind me.

Fuck. What the hell is going on?

+ + +

I’m shit at work for the rest of the day and leave the garage early, hoping to catch Lily again at the end of her hours. The front door to the bakery is still unlocked although the cupcake shaped sign reads: Closed. Lily stands with her back to the door, wiping down the glass display case when I enter.

“It isn’t safe to leave the door open.”

Lily spins, holding a spray bottle and rag to her chest.

“Jesus, Brut, you scared me.”

I twist the lock myself and step toward her. She wears an apron over her pink T-shirt and some kind of tight-knit skirt with pink and white strips. Her hair is in two pigtails like the day I saw her collecting shells. That moment suddenly seems like a lifetime ago.

“Lily pad.” Her name clogs in my throat, and I swallow the lump suddenly there. There’s so much to say, but I need to touch her first. She turns her back to me, setting the glass cleaner and towel on the top of the display case. Her hands brace against the top after that as she keeps her back to me.

“I can’t do this, Brut.”

“No, Lil,” I say, choking again. My hands come to her hips, and I draw her back to me. “Lily, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” My arms wrap around her middle, and I’m kissing her neck, pleading with her. “Forgive me for being an ass. This morning. Saturday morning. Any morning.” Peppering her with more kisses, I tug her T-shirt to the side and nip at her neck. Her head falls back to my shoulder.

“Damn it, Brut.” I feel her body give against me, and my hands slip lower. I didn’t sleep at all the past two nights without her under my hold. I’m crazed with need for her, to connect with her.

“It isn’t over, Lil. It was never going to be one week. Everything and beyond. I want you. I need you.” I love you. My hands come to her sides and begin gathering up her skirt. She isn’t stopping me, and I take it as a sign to continue. Her fingers curl to fists on the display case, but she presses back against me.

“Brut,” she groans.

“You still want me, sugar. I know you do.” Her head shakes once, but her hips don’t lie. Her backside curls into me. Scrambling for my jeans, I unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants. I’m frantic to be inside her. If she can feel me, she’ll know we aren’t over. I tap at her feet with my foot between them to spread them, and she allows me to hike her skirt to her hips. She’s wearing another thong, and I tug at the material, adrenaline giving me strength to snap the band. Scooping under her, I pull back on her hips and enter her with one thrust.

“Lily,” I hiss, filling her to the hilt as her head falls forward to the display case. She meets me, pushing back to drag me in. Sparks dance before my eyes as we push and pull against one another. Grunting, growling, taking. It’s desperate and raw. Within seconds, one of her hands lowers to touch herself as I grip her hips, guiding her in a frantic rhythm over me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I pound into her.

“Brut,” she groans, stilling as she clenches, and her back arches. I follow within seconds, jetting off within her. Our ragged, harsh breaths fill the otherwise silent room as I collapse over her, sandwiching her against the case. My hands release her hips and raise to hers, linking our fingers together. She holds me tight as I squeeze her fingers in return.

“I can’t lose you again.”

Lily’s body relaxes underneath me. “Brut, I—”

“Shhh, baby. Not yet.” We’re breathing heavy, and I’m still buried inside her. I just want one more minute. One more week. One more anything. Don’t leave me, I plead, rolling my forehead against the back of her neck.