"Cady!" Nan exclaims, waving me over with a cookie cutter. "Come join the fun, Bunny!"
I grin, shrugging off my jacket and rolling up my sleeves. As I approach, Maverick's eyes meet mine, and everything I want to say to him catches in my throat. His smile is soft and warm, and I feel a flutter in my chest.
"Hey," he says, his voice low and gentle. "We convinced Nan to make cookies. I saved you some dough."
Our fingers brush as he hands me a ball of cookie dough, and electricity sparks between us. I duck my head, focusing on flattening the dough and cutting out shapes.
The kitchen is filled with laughter and playful banter as we work.
I'm watching Jonas meticulously arrange his cookies in perfect rows, when out of the corner of my eye, I spot Ransom sneaking a ball of raw dough. Laughing, I shake my finger at him. "Nan always told me I'd get worms if I eat the dough raw."
He lowers his hand and eyes Nan, who nods. He picks up another ball of dough gazing at it, then back at us. I see the conflict, the desire, the self-restraint. And I see the moment he cracks. Shrugging, he pops it in his mouth anyway. "Worth it."
Maverick picks up a ball of dough and sniffs it, the groans. "Worms? Really?"
Nan presses her lips together to keep from laughing. "It's the luck of the draw kid. You might be fine, or you might end up in the emergency room. There's raw eggs in there."
"Didn't Arnold and Rocky drink raw eggs? They're both still kicking, aren't they?" he asks hopefully.
Jonas shakes his head. "You can't know. They would not admit to having worms."
He's got a point. Not like you'd want that information shared with the masses.
Maverick sighs, and smells it again, then catches me looking. His cheeks redden and he puts it back on the cookie tray. Grinning, I slide in closer, until our sides are pressed together. "It's okay. I've had little bites through the years, and I've never gotten sick."
Lifting a ball of the chocolate chip dough, I bring it to his lips. He doesn't hesitate, taking a bite, groaning at the taste. My fingers tingle where his lips touched them.
I am a hormonal mess.
"You'll be okay, I promise. It's just one little taste. What harm can one little taste do?"You're reaching Cady. Pathetic.
"You're right. One little taste never hurt anybody," he says, licking his lip. We're not talking about cookies anymore. Maybe we never were.
"But even just a taste can change things," I whisper, leaning against the counter. The sounds in the background, the laughter, the whir of the mixer, all of it fades to a dull chatter as I focus on the man caging me in at the counter.
"Is that such a bad thing, though? Change doesn't have to mean bad. It can be very, very good."
"For a while, yeah. But?—"
My words cut off with a strangled breath as he runs his finger along my lower lip. I feel it everywhere. I feel him everywhere.
"I learned a long time ago, that if you expect the worst, you'll usually get it. So let's not do that, okay?"
"Okay," I breathe, holding back the moan. He's not wrong. Thinking everything is going to work out fine feels a hell of a lot better than looking around corners, waiting for the bad.
And if the bad finds you, it hurts either way. I've never been able to prepare myself for the bad stuff. I realized that a long time ago, when grandpa got sick. I nearly gave myself an ulcer, trying to anticipate the next problem, the next thing to worry about. And in the end, I deprived myself of justbeingwith him.
I slip out his arms, and out of the kitchen, needing a moment to collect myself. The attraction between Maverick and I is undeniable, and it's getting harder and harder to resist.
I settle onto one of the plush couches in Ransom's living room, trying to steady my racing heart. The glances Mav keeps sneaking my way aren't helping at all. The scent of baking cookies wafts through the air. A warm, comforting smell that always takes me right back to Nan's chipped Formica kitchen table.
This place is actually pretty homey. The floors are concrete, but there are area rugs scattered around the space, bright andcheerful ones. And the couches are perfect for lounging. It's obvious that this space is for family, not for show.
Ransom washes his hands, then joins me on the couch with a sigh. He's always seemed kind, but removed, as if he's observing the world from a distance. He's also incredibly okay with silence, which I am not. At least, I'm not today. Sitting here alone, with my thoughts? No, thank you.
"There's going to be a lot of cleanup to do after this cookie extravaganza," I say, waving my hand at the kitchen and the flour coating every available surface.
Ransom looks at me, his eyes piercing and knowing. "It'll clean. We're good at cleaning up messes, Cadence. We have to be because we're excellent at making them. But as long as my brothers are having fun, I don't mind." His voice is deep and sincere. "That's what matters most."
