Page 45 of Made for You
“You can tell me whatever you want, whenever you want. I’m a listening ear and as someone who had some hard times with the whole parent/nuclear family situation, I might understand more than most. But what I want to say is that I know for a fact your brother loves you and is glad you’re here.”
Her brows knit together, and a pained look lanced across her face. “I know. I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I—I appreciate him. Even the carrots and protein and all of it.”
I nodded. “It has never once occurred to me that you were ungrateful. Encouraging him to live his life isn’t a lack of gratitude. I think it comes from how much you love him.”
She sniffed and dipped her chin. “He’s done so much for me, and I know he’s glad to. He says that all the time like I might forget. But he’s a single man. He just got out of the Army and can finally do whatever he wants, and now he’s, what? Offering to buy me tampons and taking me to the mall?”
I plugged in the hand mixer she’d gotten out—shiny and new and very likely never before used, if I had to guess—and set it down. “Yes. He is. Because like you said, your brother is aman.And I’m sure there are things he might add to that list if he wasn’t trying to stay focused, but he’s also establishing a business and a new sense of home living here. And yes, he’s doing that for you, but I think he’s doing it for him, too.”
She swallowed, digesting that. “I guess.”
I smiled. “I don’t know him all that well, but I’m pretty confident about that.”
She just eyed me, more than a little bit of that teen reluctance shining through.
“Now, how about we finish up these cookies, and then I’ll eat the dough but tell you that you can’t, and then we’ll do a few more problems before they come out of the oven?”
She scowled. “I can’t have the dough?”
I shrugged. “I’m just trying to give you the authentic experience here. As an adult, I know getting salmonella from raw cookie dough with eggs is definitely a thing that can happen, though I’ll need to review the statistics on that.Ooo, we should do some statistical analysis on the likelihood—”
She groaned. “I maybe hate stats more than calc.”
I grinned. “You know, for a kid who hates math so much, you sure seem bound and determined to figure it out.”
She might complain, but she didn’t give up. Being innately good at math was helpful, yes; still, being doggedly stubborn and determined was one of the more important qualities—in mathandlife.
“Anyway, I’ll tell you it’s not safe to eat, because I genuinely don’t want you to get sick, but I will eat quite a bit of it because raw cookie dough is amazing. I’m just prepping you so you know what to expect.”
She gave me this perplexed look and blinked. “You know, you’re a very strange person.”
I laughed loudly at that. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
She shrugged again like it was all the same to her, yet I could see a little tug of a smile at her mouth. “You can, I guess. I wouldn’t tell Bruce to try to date anyone else, that’s for sure.”
Then she picked up the hand mixer and stuck it into the bowl, the beaters whirling and making enough noise I could only watch and smile and revel in the good feelings of the moment.
I had no idea what Bruce wanted with me, but I hoped knowing Kiley was at least verbally on board with… something… would ease his mind. I hoped it would free him up to do whatever hewantedto do with me—and I really hoped he had some of the same things on his list as I did.
Standing there in that pristine kitchen, the clatter of metal beaters on the glass bowl and whirring small appliance engine cushioning the moment, I soaked in the reality of those thoughts.
I wasn’t shielding myself from Bruce—physically, emotionally, or anything else. I was standing here hoping he’d come home and talk to me, ask me out, and take things between us further. Having just waded through memories of my past and some of what had made me difficult to be around for so long, of what had kept me from wanting anything from anyone, I marveled at it.
It seemed far too soon, so completely illogically premature to even think, and yet there it was: I not only wanted something from Bruce… I might actually wanteverything.The question was, if he wanted the same thing, would he let himself have it? And would I be able to follow through with all these open, good feelings? Or would that past I’d done my best to make peace with come calling?
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Bruce
The buttery-sweet scent of cookies met me at the door and slowed my movement to a dead stop at the sight before me.
My mind raced through a thousand thoughts in the face of that scent and the sight of Nikki sitting on my couch with her head dipped low over a laptop.
There’s this thing that happens in special operations—particularly in the unit I was assigned to and others like it. Some people cave to it and others manage to withstand it, but in the end, everyone has moments when they think they’respecial.
And yes, having grown up on a steady diet of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood as my babysitter, I know we are all special and that’s all wonderful and good. But I mean special as inexceptionaland therefore deserving of exception. This translates to all manner of things.
First, it’s an important ethos because in many ways, it’s simply true. The amount of resources and training poured into top-tier operators across the US’s black ops community is gargantuan, and coming out of that system means you are actually one of the best in the world. Period.
