Page 27 of Teach Me to Laugh

“For being happy. One day I’d like to be your reason.”

She didn’t say anything as she pulled her little body into my big truck. I’d give anything to have the trust I needed to put my hands on her hips and lift her up, but we weren’t there yet. One day we would be. But that wasn’t today.

Things with Beckett after our little argument had been fine. Like all things, I swept it under the rug. We had pizza, teased, and watched our show until it was way later than either of us should have gone to bed. The next morning I realized Beckett pulled an all-nighter. It was then that I realized he didn’t sweep things under the rug like me. Beckett dealt with things. And the way hedealt with me was to spoil me rotten without me even realizing he was doing it. He bought pizza, sacrificed his study time to spend time with me, and in turn had to sacrifice his sleep time to study.

I felt horrible when I realized, so I made an awesome breakfast with bacon—something I hate cooking—before school. Beckett had made his love for bacon clear, but who likes to cook something that spits burning pieces of pain at you? And worse, bacon is a morning thing, so you’re not exactly starting your day off right by making the stuff. Unless you’ve got a thing for pain, then a pan of bacon spitting its fire on the stove is the perfect way to start the day.

Regardless, I cooked the bacon, and I cooked it for the man who sacrificed sleep for me. I cooked it, and to my sheer surprise, I loved it.

I loved it because Beckett walked into the kitchen after his shower looking like a model, with a gaze of sheer delight. He tilted his head up slightly, sniffing the air, before letting out a low, appreciative moan.

“Peanut,” he groaned deep and low. “You’re the best.”

I’m the best.I’m the best. The. Best! The man had no idea how that felt to hear. He had no idea how my insides melted in that way I tried so hard to stop.

He had no idea . . .

“Grab a plate,” I returned, gesturing to the pan of scrambled eggs and bacon now in a bowl on the counter. “Hash browns are in the microwave.”

“Heaven,” long fingers plucked a piece of bacon from the bowl. “Have I told you you’re an angel?”

“You don’t need to tell me I’m awesome.” I tried, and probably failed to play down the way his words made me feel. “I already know.”

Beckett only laughed. “Thanks for this, really.”

“It was a long night for you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t sleep,” I said, adding, “did you?”

Whiskey colored eyes met mine and then he shook his head. “No.”

“Why did you spend so much time with me if you had other things to do?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Beckett looked contemplative. I wondered if I was going to get the truth out of him. And then I wondered if he weren’t telling the truth, would I even know?

“I figured you needed me.”

“I didn’t.” The denial came automatically.

He lifted his chin. “Yeah, you did. We argued. I hadn’t realized we argued, but we did. When I realized what you thought, I made an effort to make it better between us. Your happiness is important to me, Amara.”

I raised a brow “My happiness?”

His eyes warmed and my heart flipped. “You were happy last night. There was no smile or laughter, but you were happy.”

“I was?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know?” It was my turn to lift my chin, but when I did it, it was in defiance.

“Your eyes gave you away, they always give you away.” My breath snagged, but he continued. “Last night they told me I made you happy.”

The man was determined to break me. “If you don’t eat soon you’ll be late.”

He grinned in that cocky delicious way he did. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

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