chocolate,” she says, pointing to the microwave. I decide to step in and save a confused-looking Rake, who keeps glancing at the chocolate, then the microwave. I walk into the kitchen and take the chocolate out of his hands, opening the packet and tipping it into a bowl.
“I got this, Rake,” I say, grinning widely. “No need to hurt yourself.”
Rake playfully grabs me by the waist from behind and pulls me back against him. “I don’t usually spend much time in the kitchen,” he admits.
“No, really?” I say sarcastically, shimmying out of his reach with a smile. “Do you want some too, babe?”
“I do,” he says, looking down at Cara. “And if Angel loves it so much, I want to know how to make them for her.”
Why did he have to be so sweet sometimes? It makes me want to jump on him and kiss the crap out of him, but I can’t do that with Cara watching.
The last month with him has been amazing. We’ve done a lot of talking, trying to be open and honest every time the past rears its ugly head. It’s not easy, but like Lana said, nothing worth it ever is. And I’ll fight for him until my last dying breath,
“Okay,” I tell him, explaining the very basic steps. He puts the chocolate in a bowl then melts it in the microwave.
“That’s it?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “Anyone can do that.”
“Even you?” I tease, watching as he dips a strawberry in the chocolate. He then lifts it to my mouth, and I open it, taking a bite, while his gaze stays locked on my mouth. “You have to put them in the fridge.”
“The second we are alone . . .” he whispers heatedly under his breath.
I ignore him and continue to finish the strawberries, then put them in the fridge. “Cara, I’ll heat up some pasta for you to eat now, the strawberries can be dessert, all right?”
“Okay, Mom!” she calls out, then races back to the living room.
Rake pushes me back against the counter.
I love the power I have over him, how I can make him want me with just the smallest actions.
That his need for me is the same as mine for him.
That we can’t get enough of each other.
“You’re so fuckin’ . . . fuck,” he says, shaking his head.
“Very eloquent,” I say, trying to lighten the intensity radiating from him. “I’m so what?”
“Just,” he replies, pushing my hair back behind my ear. “Everything. You’re everything. It overwhelms me sometimes.”
“Good everything?” I find myself asking, even though I know he meant it in that way.
“Very good,” he says, resting his forehead on mine. “Never did I think, ever, in my fuckin’ life, would we be here right now. Together. Winning. Beating the past. Fuck.”
“We haven’t won yet.”
“We will,” he says with confidence. “Because if there’s one thing I won’t lose, it’s you for a second time.”
* * *
“Uncle Rake, it’s my birthday!” Clover yells, running up to us as we walk outside, where a big bouncy castle has been set up.
“I know, princess,” Rake says, lifting her up with one arm and handing her a brightly wrapped present with the other. “Happy birthday.”
Clover takes the package and beams up at Rake. “Thank you! I’ll add it to the pile. Daddy said I can open them all later.” She then turns to me, her big hazel eyes curious. “Are you Uncle Rake’s girlfriend? Mom said he has a lot of them.”
Rake playfully tickles her. “Why you always gotta make trouble for me, Clover?”
“Someone has to.” She grins, her black hair blowing in the wind. This little girl is going to be an absolute heartbreaker when she’s older, and with that attitude too, men better look out.
“This is Bailey,” Rake says, gesturing to me. “You be nice to her, you hear me?”
“I’m always nice, Uncle Rake,” she says, an amused glint in her eyes. “Nice to meet you, Bailey.”
“You too, Clover,” I tell her. “I’ve heard so much about you. And happy birthday—I hope you like the present.”
“You chose my present?” she asks, staring down at the black-and-pink-wrapped gift.
“I did,” I reply, wondering about why she was asking. She turns her little head to Rake. “Uncle Rake, you didn’t even choose my present?”
Rake throws his head back and laughs. “Give me a break, princess. I don’t know what seven-year-old girls like these days.”
She grins, looking back at me. “Thank you for the gift, Aunt Bailey.”