Maggie is appalled at her treatment. “What did you grab me for? I didn’t do anything wrong!” She huffs and stomps away from them. “Mom, now I’m upset. Can I have a cookie?”
Nonplussed, thrown, I laugh. “Wait. If you’re upset, you think you get a cookie?”
Maggie nods. “Yes. Cookies make me feel better. And ice cream,” she adds.
“Sheesh, Snow Pea,” Charlotte mutters from behind her.
“You think so?” I ask Maggie, smiling despite myself.
“Yes, and there’s chocolate cherry ice cream for you,” Maggie coaxes, trying to win me over.
“Nice try,” I tell her. “I finished that the other day. Sadly.”
Maggie moves past me for the kitchen. “Deek got you more.”
I feel a bolt of pleasure slam through me. “He did?”
I follow her into the kitchen and to my surprise, Deek is still there. I honestly expected him to escape the crackling tension by scurrying to the basement.
Instead, he’s standing tall, hands at his sides—and he’s looking at me.
“You got me ice cream?” I find myself asking.
He dips his chin, dropping his eyes from mine, lowering his gaze to my throat. “Maggie and I walked to the gas station.”
I’m touched. Not only was this thoughtful—this was a nice gift because the gas station price-gouges like crazy. He spent a small fortune getting me a treat. Plus, he braved shopping for me. New sights, sounds, smells, people, stares. For Lucan, this is like…
A gesture. From Lucan, this is a huge gesture.
Somewhat absently, I skim my fingers over my collarbones—a self-soothing behavior that stops being absent in any way when Lucan’s eyes zero in on where I’m touching myself.
His gaze slowly raises to mine, and our eyes lock. My heartbeat speeds up in excitement only for him to swing his eyes to the other side of the kitchen. To the vicinity of the basement door, where he may retreat. Where’s he’s sure to retreat if I don’t give him some sort of signal or declaration.
And I know with a clarity so perfect I can almost hear my thoughts being spoken aloud: he’s shown that he wants you. Now it’s your turn.
I’m suddenly hit with the memory of listening to Lucan covering the history of Ruth, and Deborah, and that tough-as-nails tent-peg lady. If their stories have proved nothing else, it’s that sometimes a woman has to take the reins. With Lucan’s natural inclination to be submissive, I feel it in my bones that if I want him, I need to make the next move.
He’s amazing with the girls.
He helps out around the house without ever being asked.
He’s respectful, he’s sweet, and he cares about us.
He cares about me. He wants me.
And he’s never so much as looked at another woman.
That last thought is only a little whisper, but I hear it matter-of-factly and acknowledge it all the same. Because for me, this last little truth is a really big deal.
Epiphany strikes me like a lightning bolt: I trust Lucan. I mean, I deeply, deeply firmly believe that he’s an earnest, honest man. A man who desperately just wants to do the right thing. He may screw up by shifting in a school parking lot and eating a couple of cute rodents in front of all the grade schoolers, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have integrity. His intentions are always good. The memory of him getting upset at seeing Ginny’s bruises on the day he met her, of how he sent word to Finn asking for help even though he expected that I’d be angry at him for it—he still did it. Because it was the right thing to do.
Doing the right thing is so hard sometimes. For a subordinate personality who desires to follow orders, that he was driven to do something he perceived to be against my wishes in order to save a girl shows that he’s submissive yet strong.
I may have to take the next step here, but he did make the first move. That took guts. So yeah, he may be submissive, but it doesn’t mean that we as a couple would be unbalanced. Don’t be afraid of him—of a relationship with him.
I don’t realize that all three girls are being unnaturally still and silent until Lucan takes a step back and the set of his shoulders—rigid with tension—stays proud even while he turns to retreat to the basement.
“Wait,” I tell him.
He freezes.
The white of his eye is very stark as he watches me without changing the angle of his head. He’s stopped breathing, waiting for me to speak.