Page 85 of Dreams and Desires

I nod. “Yeah, that’s all we can really do.”

He sighs, leaning back in his chair, his eyes distant. “It just feels... empty, you know? Like, I’m here, but not really living.”

His words hit me hard because they mirror how I’ve been feeling. I reach out, taking his hand in mine. “I get it,” I respond. “But you’re stronger than you think, Jacob. You always have been.”

He shakes his head, his eyes welling up. “I don’t feel strong, Juniper. I feel lost. Everything that’s happened... it’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“You’re still my brother,” I say firmly, squeezing his hand. “You’re kind, and you’ve been through hell, but you’re still here. That takes strength, even if you can’t see it right now.”

He looks at me, really looks at me, and for the first time in a long while, I catch a glimpse of the old Jacob. “Thanks,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You won’t have to find out,” I reply, blinking back my own tears.

We sit in silence for a while, the weight of everything between us settling without words. I want to say more, to tell him I understand, but I can’t find the words. So we just sit there, holding hands, finding a little comfort in each other’s presence.

Later, back at The Opal, I’m in the room with Zade. I’ve been thinking a lot about how lost I’ve been. As much as I appreciate Zade’s efforts, I know I need to do something to pull myself out of this.

“I need to get back to work,” I say suddenly.“I need to bake again. It’s the only thing that’s ever made me feel alive.”

“It’s Christmas in a few days,” I say, almost to myself. “Might as well pretend I’m feeling festive.”

Zade’s smirk grows as he watches me, that playful glint in his eyes. “You should. I mean, I love being your emotional crutch and all, but you might want to add a hobby to your list of coping mechanisms.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes at his sarcasm, but there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes it hard to stay annoyed. “I’m going to the kitchen. Let’s see what I can whip up.”

"I'll be right here, love," he answers, teasing me a little but clearly meaning it. That gets a small smile out of me.

I head down to the kitchen, and as soon as I step inside, the familiar scents and sounds wrap around me. The hum of the appliances, the clinking of measuring cups, and the soft aroma of flour and sugar in the air,they all bring a sense of peace I haven’t felt in a while. I reach for the cinnamon without thinking, and suddenly I’m adding a pinch of nutmeg too. The batter smells like holidays I used to care about. I start measuring ingredients, mixing batter, and sliding trays into the oven, each movement grounding me a little more, making the heaviness I’ve been carrying feel just a bit lighter. It’s not much, but it’s something. And right now, that’s enough.

By the time the cupcakes are done, I’m smiling,a real, genuine smile. I decorate them with care, adding a swirl of frosting to each one. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I’m doing something that matters, something that brings me joy.

I carefully arrange the cupcakes on a tray and add a can of whipped cream. I pause for a second, savoring the quiet anticipation before I pick up the tray and head to the suite. The elevator ride up feels different today, lighter somehow. Maybe it's because I finally did something that felt like me.

When I step into the suite, Zade is on the couch flipping through a book. He looks up as the door shuts behind me, and his expression shifts immediately. His whole face lights up in that quiet, surprised way it sometimes does when he sees me,like he didn’t expect me to come back, but hoped I would anyway.

“What’s all this?” he asks, raising one brow in that maddening, cocky way of his.

“Just a little something I whipped up,” I say casually, even though my pulse kicks like I’ve just run three flights. I balance the tray carefully in my hands.

He leans forward, intrigued, then picks up one of the cupcakes and brings it close, inspecting it like he’s holding something rare. “These look amazing,” he murmurs, taking a small bite. “Tastes like Christmas.”

His eyes close for a moment,just a moment,and when they open again, something’s shifted. There’s a new glint there. Mischief, yes. But something warmer too. Softer. It catches me off guard.

“But,” he adds, reaching for the can of whipped cream beside the tray, “I think they could use a little something extra.”

He gives the can a firm shake, then sprays a generous swirl onto the top of the cupcake. When heholds it out to me, I lean in and take a bite. The sweetness hits instantly, but it’s not the taste that lingers. It’s the way he watches me. Like my reaction means something. Like the fact that I’m here—sharing this stupid cupcake—is bigger than it should be.

Then, before I can even blink, he sets the cupcake down and pulls me onto his lap in one smooth motion. My breath catches. His hands are warm as they slide up my back, unhurried, strong. He finds the back of my neck and draws me in, and the kiss that follows starts off soft but quickly deepens, like he’s been waiting all day and finally gave up pretending otherwise.

“Juniper,” he murmurs against my lips. “I need you.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Well, I’m right here,” I say. My voice comes out quieter than I expect. Almost unsure. “What’s taking you so long?”

He huffs out a laugh, low and amused. Not smug. Just full of something unspoken. Then he stands, lifting me effortlessly, and carries me to the bed like I weigh nothing at all. He lays me down gently and hovers for a moment, his body close but not touching, his eyes scanning mine like he’s still not sure this is real.

Then he grabs the whipped cream again.

"Dessert's not over," he tells me, half-serious, half-playing around.

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