Page 45 of One Pucking Life

He lifts her from the chair and balances her on his hip, nuzzling her cheek until she erupts into giggles.

“She was starting to get sleepy,” I say. “Probably due for her nap in a few minutes.”

“Perfect timing,” Max says. He lifts a soft blue Care Bear plush from one of the grocery bags. “Also, I saw this on an endcap and couldn’t resist. I mean, how many plushies are too much?”

“I’m not sure, but I think we’re getting close.” I chuckle.

My chest tightens as Caroline grabs the bear and immediately shoves its ear into her mouth. He starts rocking her gently as he walks around the kitchen, humming something under his breath. Caroline rests her head against his shoulder, still clutching the bear.

I can’t look away.

This isn’t fair. How am I supposed to feel normal around him when he’s like this? He’s mind-numbingly sexy without even trying.

Max looks up and catches my gaze. “Do you mind if I take her up and put her down for her nap?”

I nod, and my throat feels tight. “Of course not.”

“I’ll just figure out what to make for dinner with pickle hummus.”

“Can’t wait.” He grins, shooting me a wink.

He starts toward the stairs with Caroline snuggled close. He pauses at the base and glances back at me. “There’s some of those oatmeal cookies you love in one of the bags. Thought you could use a treat.”

“Thanks,” I say, but it barely comes out.

He gives me a casual smile—friendly, easy, completely unreadable—and then he disappears up the stairs.

I stand alone in the quiet kitchen, heart hammering. Turning toward the counter, I pull the cookies from the bag. Stuck to the top of the box is a pink sticky note in Max’s handwriting:

Thank you for taking such great care of us.

My chest tightens. That note makes me feel all sorts of things. Ever since he noticed my habit of leaving messages—for both of us—on sticky notes, he’s started doing the same. Even though we use a shared family calendar app to track everything from his work schedule to Caroline’s appointments, he still takes the time to leave me notes. It’s endearing, and every single one brightens my day.

There’s just something about that little square of colorful paper, his handwriting scrawled across it—a tangible reminder of him that I can hold in my hand—that makes me smile. And they’re not just reminders about the baby or his schedule. Sometimes they’re inside jokes we’ve shared, silly anecdotes, or personal little notes like this one.

I’ve kept every single one. From the blue Post-it that said,Be home by six,to the one he left after he finally pulled ahead in our ongoing rummy game that said,I’m sorry…but who is winningagain?Each note keeps him at the front of my mind, making me want him just a little more.

Now, he’s brought me my absolute favorite cookies. These cookies are one of the few memories I have from thegood ole dayswith my parents before the cheating, fights, and gaslighting. Sure, that stuff was probably still going on, but I was just too young to recognize it. To a child, ignorance really is bliss, I suppose. During that time, our happy family lived next to a CEO of this cookie company, and he would give me packages of these cookies whenever he saw me. I loved them, so soft and chewy. I’ve loved them since.

To my knowledge, I’ve never once mentioned my affinity toward them to Max. Granted, I’ve purchased them a couple of times myself, so he probably figured it out. Yet that isn’t guaranteed. I don’t feel most guys would’ve taken note of the brand of cookie I like. Hell, I once dated a guy who failed to notice I had bright blue streaks put in my hair for two weeks. I was going through a phase.

But seriously, guys are not observant. At least not the ones I’ve known. Max is—at least when it counts. So what if he couldn’t recall the yogurt brand? He remembered these because they’re important to me.

I put away the remainder of the items in the grocery bag, all the while thinking of last night. The thoughtfulness of the cookies made me want Max something fierce. I think I’m actually becoming obsessed with him. Thoughts of his fingers, his tongue, and his satisfied breaths fill my head, and I’m desperate to feel it all again but more.

The fact that he’s been so normal and unaffected halts my fantasies. He hasn’t shown an ounce of awkwardness or desire. He is treating me exactly as he has for two months.

Meanwhile, I’m unraveling. Wanting things I shouldn’t. Replaying memories that weren’t supposed to happen. Cravingsomething as simple as his touch. The memory of his hands on me makes me feel completely undone.

He did say I only have to ask.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

DELANEY

Ididn’t ask.

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