Page 31 of Hot Lovin'

“Secret ingredient number two?” he prompts, playing along with our usual game.

“Superhero strength,” I say, flexing an arm in an exaggerated muscle-man style. “For all the battles we’ve fought and won.”

“Like Batman?” he asks, starry-eyed.

“Exactly like Batman.” I nod solemnly. “And you know what Batman always has?”

He shakes his head.

“Robin! You’re my Robin, kiddo.” I ruffle his hair, and he ducks away with a laugh, though not quickly enough to escape my affectionate tousle.

We work side by side, spooning dough and talking about everything and nothing, the latest episode of his favorite cartoon, how high he swung on the swings today, and whether dogs or cats make better superheroes. It’s a conversation so mundane yet so precious, considering where we were only a few weeks ago.

With Alicia and Mike, his parents, now safely behind bars after their attempt to silence us both, can finally be left in the past. The threat they posed feels like a lifetime ago, although the echoes of the courtroom stress still linger in the back of my mind. But my last trip to the courthouse ended happily. That was the day the judge decided Aiden could live with me permanently, making three people very happy.

Knowing he’s loved has helped Aiden to recover from his ordeal, and seeing the school counselor helps. He’s also been working hard with the speech therapist, and his pronunciation has come on in leaps and bounds. He still calls me Lollie, though, which I kind of love.

As we slide the last tray into the oven, Aiden peers through the glass, watching the dough transform before his eyes. I pull him back a little, not wanting him to burn his nose. He smiles at me for a moment, but the cookies hold his attention as they bake.

“They get bigger,” he observes, watching in fascination.

“Everything does,” I muse, thinking of more than just cookies. “You, me, our little family.”

“Is dis our family?” he asks quietly, turning to look up at me, his brown eyes searching for confirmation.

“Yep,” I say, more firmly than I feel because there’s no manual for this, no guidebook on how to rebuild a broken childhood. “You and me and Quinn. We’re a team.”

“Forever?” His voice is hopeful, a fragile whisper that clenches at my heartstrings.

“Forever and ever,” I promise, crossing my heart. “Cross my heart, hope to?—”

“Die, stick a cupcake in your eye!” he finishes with a giggle.

I can’t help but join in. “Exactly, though I’d prefer the cupcake in my mouth, thank you very much.”

“Me too,” he proclaims, his laughter fading into a contented smile.

The timer dings, pulling us out of our moment. I slip on the oven mitts and retrieve our first batch of golden-brown cookies. Setting them down, I steal a glance at Aiden. He’s a sight, with flour dusting his hair and a smudge of dried cookie dough on his cheek. My heart swells. This is what happiness looks like.

“Ready to taste test, Chef Aiden?” I gesture grandly to the cooling cookies.

“Yes!” He stands at attention, giving me a mock salute before snatching the smallest cookie from the edge of the tray. He takes an experimental nibble, and his face lights up like fireworks on New Year’s Eve. “The bestest cookies ever, Lollie!” He pretends to feed some to Mr. Bear, sitting patiently on the kitchen table. “Mr. Bear likes them too.”

“Bestest isn’t a word, but I’ll let it slide since you and Mr. Bear are clearly cookie connoisseurs.” I chuckle, popping a cookie into my mouth, and oh, it’s like a hug from the inside out.

“Can we save some for Quinn?” Aiden asks suddenly, crumbs tumbling from his lips.

“Of course,” I agree, because Quinn, with his grumpy exterior that fools no one anymore, is our hero. Our protector. Our friend. And a whole lot more to us both.

“Think he’ll like them?” Aiden worries his bottom lip between his teeth, anxious for approval.

“Quinn’s tough, but nobody can resist your cookies,” I assure him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. “Not even big, strong policemen.”

“Maybe he can teach me to be strong too,” Aiden muses, leaning into my side.

“Maybe,” I say, tilting his chin up so his gaze meets mine. “But you’re already the bravest person I know.”

“Even braver than Batman?” The question is whispered, tentative.

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