Page 108 of Crack the Ice

The stubble on his face wakes me the rest of the way up. My arms wrap around his neck as I pull him down onto the bed with me. “You’re here?”

His hand runs up my side, disappearing under my sweatshirt, fingers brushing lightly back and forth across my ribs. “Of course I’m here. You were crying, and then you went silent. I called Cade, and he couldn’t get you to answer the door, so when I had him peek in, which he was vehemently against by the way, he told me what had happened at school, and afterward said you were probably exhausted.”

“I was, I am.”

“I know,” he whispers, kissing my temple. “That’s why I’m here.”

He chose me.

All the air leaves my lungs at the realization. It wasn’t out of guilt, not even because I’m sure he got a call from the principal too, but because this big, beautiful man got on an airplane the second he knew

His face blurs behind the tears building in my eyes. I thought I’d cried all the tears my body was capable of producing already. He runs his free hand over my hair a few times before sinking his fingers into it, combing long strokes through it.

He rolls me to my other side, wrapping his arm around my waist as he pulls me into him. My hips cradled in his, fingers laced in his as he lays our hands over my stomach. “Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

At those words, my brain finally goes quiet, and for the first time in a really long time, it stays that way.

THIRTY-SIX

MAVERICK

Cecy took off before the sun this morning, giving me some cryptic message about “getting a recipe right.” Kelsey is back in town for a couple of days before she’s got another out-of-town game, and offered to bring the kids to school this morning, which means my woman is at the bakery alone right now. Jackpot.

I make quick work of getting ready, throwing on black jeans and a sage green t-shirt before grabbing a protein shake on my way out the door. The sun is high enough that the sky looks like a painting, oranges and reds streaking through the clouds. The humidity is awful. September is still hurricane season after all.

The drive is quick, and I see her the second I put the car in park. She’s bent over the display case, putting something inside, but instead of the usual blank counter, she’s got a cake on a stand with a dome over it and four cupcakes in front of it. A bag of red frosting sits on the edge as if she finished them up here.

I quietly close the door to my car, jogging to the door, unable to keep my distance any longer. I knock softly, her startled gasp making me smile. She’s in all red today. She looks like a Valentine’s Day card. A soft pink tank top lies against her tan skin, the shoulder of her red cardigan hangs off one shoulder, and pink joggers with a white stripe down the side cling to her legs.

Her hair is down today. It’s never down when she’s here. Says she gets too hot. It looks stunning nonetheless.

“Hi,” she says as she unlocks the door and pulls it open. “I should give you a key.”

I wouldn’t be opposed to that.

“Good morning, baby,” I say, walking her backward until her hips meet the counter. I pick her up, placing her in the space between the register and the cupcakes on the other end. Her surprised squeal sends a rush of warmth through me. I want her right here, right now.

The bag of frosting is lying next to her. My eyes fall to the red deliciousness. I want to try it, but I also don’t want to puke at practice later. “I bet you taste as sweet as the frosting you spent all morning making, don’t you, baby?”

She dips a finger into the frosting, holding it out in the small gap between us. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

I gently lift her hand to my mouth with my own, holding her still as I lean in and take her finger into my mouth, swirling my tongue, keeping my eyes on her the whole time.

Her pupils blow wide, lips parting as I lick her finger clean. The taste explodes on my tongue, so familiar, so fucking good. “Is this sour straw?”

She nods, biting down on her lip.

“You made sour straw frosting?” I ask, her hand still resting on mine.

She picks up a cupcake, peeling the wrapper off ever so slowly before holding it out for me. “This is what Cade and I have been working on. It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday. These were supposed to be my trial cupcakes. See how they were received by people who maybe didn’t have a secret obsession with them first.”

“I do not have a secret obsession,” I grumble. I totally do. I take a bite, my eyes immediately widen before closing halfway. My head bobs rhythmically as I take inventory of the flavors rolling around on my tongue.

Vanilla of the cupcake mixed with the tangy punch of the frosting before it melts into a bold strawberry creme flavor… It’s phenomenal. Who knows how long she spent perfecting this, trial and error, scrapping and starting over, for me.

“This is the second best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth,” I say once I swallow.

“What’s the first?” she asks slyly.