Page 173 of Money Reigns
Ihate when Broderick is right.
But fuck, Olivia does make the best peanut butter cookies.
And now they’re all mine.
Forever.
She’s mine.
No other man will ever taste these again. Not a single goddamn crumb.
I lift one to my mouth, savoring the warm, golden center like I just conquered a kingdom instead of a kitchen.
She’s curled on the couch beside me, ‘workday’ officially sacrificed at the altar of butter, sugar, and me being a jealous bastard. She chuckles, soft and unbothered, and curls deeper into my side.
“I make them for my brothers every holiday,” she says, nuzzling my shoulder. “I can’t exactly deny them, War.”
Damn it.
I want to say yes, fine, family exception.
But instead—
“They can have some of my stash.”
She twists toward me, blinking like I just declared war on the Department of Cookie Distribution.
“What?”
“You make a batch forme,” I clarify, biting into another cookie. “We cansharefrom mine. But the cookies belongto me.”
Her brows pinch together, confusion written all over that gorgeous face. “Are you serious?”
Deadly.
I meet her gaze, unflinching.
“Yes.”
Because it’s not about the cookies.
It’s about claiming something no other man gets.
It’s about the way she sings off key when she bakes, the little dance she does in my kitchen, the way she presses the fork into the dough just so before sliding the tray in the oven.
It’s about her feeding me with her fingers and grinning when I groan like she just made me see God.
Those moments?
They’re mine.
And if it takes hoarding cookies like a lunatic to make sure every man on this earth knows it?
So be it.
Her laugh bubbles out, light and sweet, and it grates on me because she’s laughingat me.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says, shaking her head as she curls closer, crumbs still on her fingers. “Cookies, War? Really?”
