Page 40 of Pack Owned
Normal isn’t a word I’m well acquainted with, considering Stepdouche.
“So Liam says you helped design the kitchen?” I ask as we lay out another batch of cookies on a fresh tray.
“Yeah. My mom would be in heaven if she saw this place. She’d never want to leave the kitchen.”
I laugh. “She sounds amazing.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle. “She was. Died from a drunk driver on her way to a church cook-off.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say softly, my heart hurting for his pain. “My dad died from cancer when I was little.”
Dane nods slowly. “It never really gets easier, does it?”
“No, but I like to think they’re looking down on us and smiling that we’re living our lives. That we’re honoring them in some small way. Even if it’s in baking cookies.” I blink hard and fast, trying not to tear up at the memory of my dad and me.
The timer dings, snapping us back. We pull out the trays, the scent of warm chocolate filling the room, weaving into the space between us.
“Careful, they’re hot,” he warns.
I grab a spatula, but he’s quicker, sliding the cookies onto the cooling rack. They’re golden brown, with the centers promising gooey perfection.
Dane clears his throat. “Why don’t you pour us some glasses of milk and about a quarter of Bailey’s Irish Cream?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I reply, grabbing two glasses and filling them with milk, then adding the Bailey’s.
He slides a cookie onto a plate, and it falls apart. I catch a chunk, popping it into my mouth before it can break entirely.
“Damn,” I breathe out, the richness exploding across my taste buds. “That’s some serious cookie craftsmanship.”
“Thanks.” Dane grins, and it’s infectious. “Wait until you try them with milk. Game changer.”
I follow suit, dunking the next piece, and the combination of sweet chocolate and cold milk is the most amazing thing ever.
Enjoying the cookie so much, I fight the urge to grab more. Dane turns off the timer and takes the last batches of cookies out. He plates the cooled cookies and brings them over, setting them between us. “You can’t just have one, right?”
“Thanks. These are, wow… so good… I could eat them all.”
He chuckles. As he reaches for another, his fingers brush mine, sending a jolt up my arm. His dark brown eyes, flecked with gold, meet mine for a beat.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, a hint of self-consciousness creeping into his handsome face. There’s a faint scar etched across his left cheek that I imagine is from his army days.
“It’s fine,” I say, but my heart’s thudding away, loud enough that I’m sure he can hear it.
“Kayla...”
“Uh-huh?” The word catches in my throat, anticipation coiling tight in my belly.
The broad muscles in his shoulders lower slightly. “Thanks for helping me bake. It’s... nice. Having someone to share this with.” He rakes a hand through his short, brown hair.
“Sure. Any time.” And I realize I mean it.
After I have three more cookies, I groan, pushing the heaping plate away. “No more. I’m officially done.”
Dane chuckles, a rich, warm sound that does strange things to my insides.
He carefully gathers the leftover cookies, placing them gently in an airtight container. I start clearing the dishes off the table, stealing glances at him as I work. We move together, cleaning up without needing to direct each other. A rhythm forms, easy and comforting. I find myself relaxing, the tension in my shoulders easing as we work side by side. Comfortable isn’t something I do, but this… this is nice.
“Right, just gotta take out the trash. Be right back,” Dane says, hefting the bag over his shoulder.
