“It’s stupid,” I muttered. “I don’t know why I even care.”
“You love them,” she said simply. “And it’s not the first time it’s happened. Is it?”
I shot her a surprised look.
“Why the hell would you think that?” I asked.
She patted my hand. “Because you wouldn’t react this badly otherwise.”
I looked away. “You’re too perceptive.”
She took the mixing bowl and dumped the flour and sugar into it. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.” She dumped cubes of butter into the bowl. “But I’ll listen if you do.” I stared at her as she stirred the ingredients together. She was looking down into the mixture. It was almost easier, not having her look at me. I grabbed the baking pan and dunked it under the soapy water.
“My dad left us when I was just a kid. I remember the day he walked out.” I scrubbed viciously at the pan. “Then, it was my mom. She was young when she had me. I guess she couldn’t cope or whatever. She took off.”
“What happened after that?” Grace asked quietly.
“My grandmother took care of me for a few years,” I said. “But she was old. She went into a retirement home. I lived with an aunt for a bit. Then she moved overseas for a job and didn’t bring me with her. My uncle took me in. He met a woman with kids. They got married and moved into a new house together to start their new family. There wasn’t any room for me.” I stopped scrubbing and let out a breath through my nose. “Luckily by then I was old enough to get an apartment with Micah, and then eventually the others moved in, too.”
Grace stopped mixing and put a hand on my arm, sticky with clumps of wet dough. I looked up at her. Her expression was heartbroken.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It must have been so hard, not having any kind of stability.”
“I had the youth center,” I said. “That’s where I met Micah and Finn and the rest. That’s where I learned to play guitar. Where I learned how to read music. I don’t know where I’d be without that place.”
Grace squeezed my arm. I went back to washing.
“None of that matters, anyway,” I said. “I’m an adult now. I’m over it.” My throat was tight. “Is the mixing done? We should start flattening the dough into a crust now.”
Grace glanced over at me with a careful look.
“I think we’ve got a rolling pin somewhere,” I continued, pulling out drawers to search. “I’ve never used it, but I remember seeing one, at least.”
“Zain—” she began.
“Don’t know why we have one,” I cut her off. “It’s not like any of us ever planned on baking.” I finally found the pin and pulled it out from the back of the drawer. “There we go. Pie crust, here I come.” I turned to Grace, forcing a smile and silently begging her to drop it. “That dough won’t know what hit it.”
From the worried look on her face I thought she might push, but instead she grabbed a handful of flour to dust the counter.
“If you want to take a first crack at it, be my guest,” she said.
She scooped up the dough with both hands and plopped it down. I bumped her hip with mine, moving her out of the way to take her place.
“This feels familiar,” I said as I attacked the dough with the rolling pin. “But there’s something missing.”
“If you want me to start rubbing my backside against you again, you’re going to need to do a lot more wooing,” she said.
“I thought men doing chores got women hot?” I asked.
“Does baking count as a chore?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I countered. “Areyougetting hot right now?”
“I can’t lie and say I’m not enjoying the view.” She raised an eyebrow, overtly ogling my ass as I worked at the dough.
“And here I thought I was the one who had no self-control,” I teased.
Grace made a face at me and wiped her dough-sticky hand across the back of my shirt.
