I lean down until my lips are a breath away from hers. “Perks of being my baby mama.”
“Lucky me.” She laughs and presses her lips to mine, relaxing in my arms.
“Hey,” I say, pulling back a bit.
“Hmm?”
“Can I be serious for a second?”
Her eyebrows tick up. “I mean, if you must. But only one second. Giant cookies and blankets await.”
“Noted.”
“Last week was—” I look for a word that isn’t a mess of apology and relief and the stupid, stubborn hope I can’t shake. “—a lot. And you kept standing still while I spun out. A lot. You didn’t have to. You did anyway.”
She opens her mouth, and I shake my head, just once. “I need to say this before somebody asks for more napkins.”
“Proceed,” she whispers, eyes on mine.
“I love you.” I pause a moment to see how I feel about the words. They feel right, so I repeat it. “I love you,” I say again, because saying it once isn’t enough.
“I love you for the obvious stuff,” I say, grinning because she’s already rolling her eyes. “You’re brilliant, and you make impossible days look simple.”
“Flatterer,” she murmurs, but she’s listening.
“I love how much you love writing the specials on the chalkboard, how you always have flour somewhere on you, how you smile and make everything okay again. That little sound you make when you eat something really good.”
I lean down and whisper in her ear. “The sound you make when youfeelreally good.”
She pushes me back playfully, but there’s heat in her eyes. She hooks a finger in my shirt.
“My turn,” she says.
“You don’t have to,” I say. “It’s okay if you don’t.”
But she just says, “Shut up.”
Her hand stays fisted in my shirt. “I love the way you pour level every single time. I love how you listen when I’m spiraling and don’t rush me. I love how you take care of people. I love that you climbed a tree to my window in the middle of the night when you could’ve just used the front door.”
I laugh, but she’s not done.
“I love how you steady a wobbly table.”
At my confused look, she shakes her head.
“I don’t know. Don’t ask me to explain it. It’s just really hot.”
“Oh?” I murmur.
“Anyway,” she says, sliding her arms around me. “What I’m trying to say is that I love you too.”
It goes down like that first cold sip of brew on a hot day. I’m about to kiss her when someone raps their fist on the table and lifts an empty.
“Uh—sorry. One more Heritage?”
Paige bites back a laugh; I grab the tap. “You got it.” I slide the pint across, take his cash, and he wanders toward the screen.
Paige bumps her hip to mine. “This is a great partnership,” she says, eyes bright. “We should do this on purpose more often. Not just festivals.”
