Page 128 of Ramshackle
Fuck, I miss that smile.
I miss it being directed at me most of all, but I’ll take this.
I wish I could freeze this moment because I’ve learned to be grateful for what you have when you have it. Happiness? Fun? Those were like a pipe dream to me not long ago.
But since she’s come back into my life, I’ve experienced both more times than I can count.
It doesn’t matter if she rejects me.
Because I choose her.
I’ll be there for her in whatever way she’ll let me. I won’t be picky.
I remember my phone in my pocket and sneak a quick picture. She’s wearing the navy shirt and short pajama set that Aiden bought for her, which means her legs are bare from her thighs down to her slippers. Her hair is bunched over the front of one shoulder with rebel strands sticking in different directions from the short amount of sleep she had.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
Her face lifts, and I shove my phone back into my pocket before she catches me. “What’s next?”
I reach for the roller and hand it to her. “Put the dough on the table and then roll it out with this. You want it to be a quarter inch thick.”
Rae dumps the dough, and a plume of sugar flies into the air and her face. “Oh, shit.” She coughs into her arm, and I can’t help but laugh. She grumbles something under her breath and grabs the rolling pin. She tests a short and light roll on top, then frowns at it.
“Here.” I step up beside her and hold out my hand for the pin. “I’ll show you.”
She gives it to me, taking a step to the side to give me more room in front of the dough. I shift over, fully aware that she’s chosen to stay close while she watches me push and knead the roller into the dough. I get the dough from a round blob to a more flattened shape before handing the tool back.
Raegan’s forehead bunches with concentration as she adds more weight to her task, spreading the dough out further and further. I’m so entranced watching her that I don’t realizeuntil too late how thin she’s made it. The dough thickness is completely uneven, with lumps and mounds in some spots and then areas so thin that the table is visible.
“Did I do it right?” she asks hopefully, and I’m fucking tempted to tell her yes. If we were at the Loft and these were just for us, I would. But supplies are limited in the bunker.
“It’s close,” I say, giving her a smile to soften the answer.
She huffs, and I move closer. “We’ll do it together.” I roll the dough back into a ball and press it into the table. Picking up the rolling pin, I settle my hands on the outside of hers and shift myself behind her with my head over her shoulder. I only have a few inches over her in height, so my lips and jaw are even with her hairline, and the smell of her shampoo fills my nose.
Focus!
Roll the dough.
Don’t think about how my arms are wrapped around hers.
Quarter-inch thickness.
Or how my heart is thundering in my ears.
Make sure the dough is even.
Or how my body’s caging hers.
“Dane?”
Hm?“What?” I ask, snapping to attention.
“You’re poking me.”
What?
Oh.
