Page 44 of Milk & Cookie

“Howdy, Angel. Just calling to say I’ve cracked the case, and I’m on my way home.”

The bell above the bakery door jingles, and Gail looks up.

The moment she realizes it’s me, her welcoming smile vanishes. “We’re closed.”

“The sign says Open, Gail. Can’t imagine you’d want to turn away paying customers this early in the day, with so many treats left to sell.” I gesture at all the near-full baskets. “Not exactly a sound business plan, but you’re the boss. You want me to flip the sign?”

“I want you to leave.” She’s fucking seething.

“And I want to stay and chat, while I eat every garlic twist your talented daughter made. Did you have a good week?” I put some cash on the counter and reach for the basket of garlic twists, but she moves it out of my reach.

“Your money’s no good here.”

I sigh and lean against the wall. “People normally say that when they mean something’s free.”

“There’s nothing here for you, Monaghan. Leave, already.”

“I will. Soon.” I back up toward the door and brace my foot against it, so nobody will walk in and overhear what I’m about to say. “We need to talk. I was hoping to do it over a snack, but maybe it’s safest not to. You’re clearly not fond of me, and I should probably be more wary around food you serve me. Wouldn’t want to end up in a shallow grave next to Adam Walla-Walla Wallace, would I?”

Gail goes dead still, and I watch for every sign of guilt I know to look for. Her left eye twitches first, and then her fingers. Her chest practically flutters with the pace of her breaths, and she darts a glance at every exit there is. She definitely fucking did it.

“See, the thing is, Gail, I’m really good at the job I just quit. Way better than anyone else who’d ever think to follow up on a woman with a penchant for disposing of guys named Adam. So you don’t need to worry about anyone coming after you — unless you try to dispose of me.”

Her eyes glow with a dangerous fire, and I temper the air with my hand. “Don’t worry. There’s no need to plot my demise. I didn’t set out to discover your secrets and exploit you; I only went hunting for the asshole who broke your jaw, so I could kill him myself. Okay? I don’t take kindly to people who hurt my family, and like it or not, I love your daughter, and I’m sticking around. You and I are not going to be a family — we already are a family, and I protect my people. You don’t have to ever trust me, but I want you to know that you can.”

I hold up a list of names and numbers. I slowly fold it and place it on the windowsill by the door, so she won’t spook at an approach, and then tap the paper twice, to make sure it has her attention. “These are the contact details for my family, friends, and colleagues. Feel free to call them for testimonials of how responsible, loving, and kind I am. I’m not an innocent, but I do protect them — and that’s something you and I have in common, so I hope we can become friends in time. I’d appreciate it if you would stop causing your daughter stress by dropping hints about moving elsewhere, though. She deserves to feel safe and settled in this place that she loves. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to go hug your daughter and tend to her every fucking need.”

I bid her good day with a nod, and open the shop door, to address the small crowd waiting to enter.

“Apologies,” I say, and catch the end of one guy’s muttering about lining up to fuck the babymaker-baker.

I clear my throat loudly enough to startle the entire group, and then give a warning growl. “Frederica Beckett will be making my babies henceforth, and I’ll be sticking around to help raise them, so you may want to mind your damned mouths, if you like your fucking teeth. You have a nice day, now.”

15

FRED

He’s back, and he’s more adorable than ever, in the T-shirt he had made. The fabric is covered in the girls’ artwork. After he took pictures of their creations, he sent the photos to a screen printer. Now he’s covered in crazy-looking tigers, and all I want to do is get closer to him, but it’s not as easy as I wish it were when we’re hanging out at home with the kids.

Because everything about Vince is big.

I almost forgot how big, but seeing him up close again — feeling him up close — has it all come rushing back to me. His warmth. His smile. His tender heart. And the giant bulge that tents his jeans every time he gets wind of my steamy thoughts or gets within a few feet of me. He basically has to leave the room when it happens, so it doesn’t garner attention from the children, but they adore him, so his absence is a tragedy each time. Something must be done about it, if we’re going to maintain a G-rated household, and I’m pretty sure I know the solution.

I corner him in the kitchen and set a bar of goatmilk soap on the counter next to him. “Freesias and lilies. That’s my scent. All the bathrooms have a lock up high. You’re welcome to shower or freshen up as much as you need to, so you can spend the rest of the day with us in comfort.”

He stares at me, and then lifts the soap to his nose and gives a happy rumble.

I kiss his chest, press myself against him, and stroke the straining front of his jeans, before I turn to scoop up Luna as she comes stomping and growling through the door. “Let’s give Vince a chance to use the bathroom.” I distract her with a slice of apple, so we leave Vince to himself. “He’s traveled a long way to see us, and he’ll need to wash up.”

Oblivious, she waves her piece of apple in the air like a wand. “Rawr.”

“Exactly,” I say with a grin.

The rest of the day goes wonderfully, with the children playing in the sunshine and Vince working with me in the gardens. He’s so helpful, and working with him miraculously gets four times the amount of work done that I could do myself. Which means we get to take lots of breaks to do things like watching the clouds with the girls, playing tag and hide-and-seek, and fitting them all with daisy-chain crowns.

It’s like a dream.

Until Mom comes home, and everything gets more tense.

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