Page 127 of Ramshackle
“Dane?”
I whip my head over my shoulder at the sound of her voice. Raegan looks around at the chaos of the kitchen and then to me. “What are you doing?”
Finishing the last strawberry, I set the knife down and turn to give her my full attention. “Making some things for tomorrow. Were you looking for me?”
Hope swells in my chest like a balloon. I try to squeeze and deflate it, but controlling my emotions has never been a strength of mine. It sits there no matter what I tell myself, waiting to jumpstart my heart or explode at her whim.
“You weren’t in the room still when I woke up. Aiden thought you might be here, so I came to check.”
I try to hide my disappointment.
At least she thinks about me when I’m not there.
But she isn’t here to give me her response, either.
If it’s taken this long for her to tell me how she feels, then is there any point pretending I don’t have my answer?
“Do you help make things here a lot?” she asks, moving closer to look at the food I’ve already prepared.
My body instinctively shifts to follow her. Like she’s my sun, and I’m just the lucky idiot caught in her orbit.
“Not as often as I’d like,” I admit. When it was up to me to do all the cooking at the Loft, I realized how much I enjoyed trying new recipes and making good, tasty food. We tried taking turns at first, but Aiden is awful with everything on the stove. His phone distracts him, and he winds up burning it every time. He’s only useful at assistance with baked goods and prep work.
Kellan can manage grilled cheese sandwiches, bacon for BLTs, and pasta from a box.
Jackson…he’ll eat anything put in front of him, but he’ll never cook. He just hangs out near someone until his growling stomach pisses them off enough to get up and make it for him. Me being that someone ninety-nine percent of the time.
“Is there anything I can help with?” She traces a finger through the powdered sugar on the table and lifts it to her nose for a sniff. Her tongue darts out to taste it, and she hums appreciatively.
My dick springs to attention in my own show of appreciation, but that is thelastthing I want her to see right now. I lean a bit into the table to hide it from view. “Sure. Grab that bowl over there.” I point to the bowl of cookie dough I’d taken a break from.
She strides over to it with her back to me, and I quickly rearrange myself so my hard-on isn’t so fucking obvious.
Rae sets the bowl down in front of her. “What do I need to do?”
“Have you made sugar cookies before?”
Her cheek indents from biting it on the inside, and I remember her bare apartment. She said she was always on the move. “No.”
What else has she missed out on?
And how can I help her experience everything while we’re hiding in the bunker?
After we take down GE, we can do whatever we want. Go wherever she wants to go.
I realize I’m not the best travel guide, considering my own limited experience, but then we’ll both get to try and see things for the first time.
Stop planning a fucking trip like you’re going on a honeymoon.
I grab the empty containers where the fruit had been to busy my hands. “Grab the sifter and put more powdered sugar down on the table. It’ll help keep the dough from sticking.” It was a happy accident when I used powdered sugar instead of flour one time, and the results were so good that I always use it for baked desserts now.
She searches the table. “Sifter?”
Right. Zero baking knowledge.
Rather than make her get it, I walk around the table to pick it up and bring it to her. Then, I slide the bag of powdered sugar next to it. “Add some in the top here, and then squeeze the handle like this over the table to spread it out.”
I toss the fruit containers away and cover the heaping bowls of fruit with plastic wrap before putting them in the fridge. When I check back on her, she’s smiling as powdered sugar falls like snow over her workspace.
