Page 6 of Crack the Ice

I pull out two loaves of sourdough I finished this morning and hand them to him. “For your teacher,” I say softly. “She still likes bread, right?”

His face brightens as he takes the loaves from me. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

His mom. She asked me to make some for Thanksgiving, right before she died. “I made some for her last year. Your mom said she liked it.” I give him a soft smile, putting my hand on his shoulder and squeezing softly. “Let me know if you guys need anything, okay?”

He nods and heads out the door without another word, unfortunately leaving me alone with Mav. He shoves his hands in his pockets, rounding the prep table and stopping in front of me.

“Hi.” It’s such a simple thing to say, so normal. Yet every time I look at him, my heart threatens to open up again and bleed all over the floor.

“Please don’t, Mav.”

His head hangs forward slightly, the silence saying everything we can’t. But then he looks up at me through his lashes and smiles. “I can’t say hi?”

“We can’t do this again.”

“Why?” His head jerks back as if I’ve slapped him. “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

“You can’t try to weasel your way back into my life because you feel like it,” I hiss, internally cringing because that isn’t entirely fair. I played a pretty big role in our demise, too.

He pulls his hat off his head, running his fingers through his hair before putting it back on. “Weasel? Come on, Cess. Give me something.”

“You don’t get to decide how and when I heal from what you broke, Maverick.” Apparently we’re going with blame and deflection today.

My head leans back to look him in the eye, and my jaw falls open when the light catches on a silver hoop through his nose. My hand shoots up to grab his face, turning it slightly to the side. So much for boundaries.

“You pierced your nose?” I hiss.

He smiles despite the punishing grip I have on his face. When I realize how hard I’m squeezing, I let my hand fall, taking a step back to put some distance between us.

“I made good on our bet,” he says, leaning his hip against the table and crossing one ankle over the other. He flares his nose a few times, letting the light catch it, just because he can.

My mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound comes out. I clear my throat, straightening up and calling on all the faux confidence I need right now. “You made good on our bet?” I repeat.

He nods. Amusement dancing in his eyes as he watches me silently unravel.

“You pierced your nose because of our bet?”

“Looks to be that way, yes.”

“No need to be a cheeky little shit, Mav.”

“On the contrary, Cecilia,” he says, closing the distance until my chin is almost resting on what I assume to be his rock-solid chest. “You made me a bet, one that said I’d be married with kids by the time I turned twenty-six. You couldn’t imagine a world where I’d make it to thirty without those things.”

He bends down, his nose almost touching my cheek as he invades my space. “Do you remember that?”

I nod, swallowing roughly. “Yes, but you have kids.”

“Hmm, not fully, I’m still working on it…” He hums, standing back to full height.

Tension grows as my brows thread together, what does that mean? I thought he was their legal guardian. Doesn’t that make them his? He doesn’t give me a chance to ask before he continues.

“Problem is, the only woman I ever pictured having those things with ran away to the other side of the world, then refused to talk to me when she got back. So, yes. My nose is pierced. Now, why have you been ignoring me for years?”

Well shit.

* Shit

* A little