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At least he acknowledges that with a small nod. “All right. You did,” he acquiesces. “But you still tucked something behind all of it. Deeper feelings that you thought I wouldn’t notice or care about. But my beautiful woman…I care about itall.” He squeezes his hold a little tighter. His palms are firm against my jawline. His fingertips drill into the curve behind my ears. “About all ofyou.”
Frustration knots in my chest, sending a matching huff past my lips. “All of me. That’s…well, I’m not opposed to that. I mean it. But…”
His cobalts narrow, examining deep into me. “But what?”
I hesitate longer. It’s not because I’m resisting his push. It’s figuring out the right way to respond to it. Or at least a way in which I make some semblance of sense.
Finally, I come up with, “But what if, this time, there’s not anallto see?”
He drops his hands. Rocks his head back. Only by an inch but far enough to notice. “What are you saying?This time?For how? For what?”
“For this.”
I grab one of his hands and press it across my stomach. I swear there’s already a responsive leap from somewhere inside me there. From our incredible someone. I want to rejoice about that but don’t. Ican’t.
“Him,” I croak, tears swelling once more “Or her. It doesn’t matter. It won’t change anything. Not…the way it needs to.”
“It won’t change anything about what?” Maximus prods. “In what exact ways that it needs to?”
I slide my hand along the top of his. But even the hills of his big knuckles aren’t such a staunch comfort anymore. How I wish they were. How I continue stroking, hoping my brain will borrow a shred of their fortitude. It’s no use.
“I have no idea how to do this, Maximus. Not a single shred of a clue.”
I don’t hide the wobble of my voice. But it doesn’t stop my desperate check on his searching stare and furrowed brow. He’s not saying anything, for which I’m really thankful. The words aren’t coming any easier, but his patience is helping a little with my search.
“I guess what I mean is…I have no real-life reference points about this. Zero. You’ve probably already filled in some of the big-picture blanks on your own. How we were raised, and by whom. So needless to say, Kell, Jaden, and I weren’t exactly the kids on the block being called in for dinner after racing our bikes through the secret dirt paths.”
He doesn’t flinch. Not that I expected him to. It’s a nice observation anyway. “Hmmm. Too bad. Dirt is a good look for you.”
And now it’s better than nice. Especially as he rubs a thumb into one of the mud smudges on my arm. I try but fail to cloak a small smirk.
“Regardless, this isn’t a road I’ve mapped at all. How do I figure this out? Veronica never did bedtime stories or even nagged us to floss our teeth. We didn’t have park picnic days in the summer or bake Christmas cookies in the winter. We didn’t bake or cook at all. I barely know how to boil water!”
Well, that takes care of the smirk. And any other glimpse of happiness in my confession. The helplessness is back in all its desperate glory, clutching my self-esteem with ruthless glee. The man doesn’t help by intensifying his stare to the point of pure gorgeousness. But when he keeps it up, I have to take pause.
“What?” I prompt. “You don’t get it? How is none of that making sense to you?”
“Because it doesn’t, sweetheart.”
I’m ready to be peeved with him. Actually, I want to be seething. But his sweet rebuke and matching gaze are the blitz I can’t ignore. I’m putty under his new embrace, as he traces tender little circles into the balls of my shoulders.
“You were raised to fit a brand, Kara. But everything you just mentioned…you know it wasalsostuff that was fabricated to fit certain molds. Christmas cookie time is an image for selling flour, sugar, and the hottest holiday movies of the year. Picnic days are for pushing hot dogs, macaroni salad recipes, and whatever the new outdoor sports equipment is.”
I let some of my tension go. But not all. “And what about teeth flossing?”
“Did you need your mom to remind you after getting your first cavity or two?”
Time to let the smirk back in. “I’ve never had a cavity.”
“Probably because you didn’t gorge on Christmas cookies.”
“All right, then. And how about the bedtime stories?”
“Hmmmph.” Maximus cocks his head. “Fine. You get half credit for that one.”
I tilt mine in the same direction. “Only half?”
“As long as we’re airing the semi-dirty laundry…you weren’t the only one who didn’t ever get a tuck-in story. The nights my mom wasn’t at work, she was doing stuff to get preparedforwork. She was either down at the laundromat, making sure we both had clean clothes to wear, or in the kitchen doing meal prep.”
