Page 91 of Forged in the Fire
Emotion lifting. Like flowers pushing up from a grave.
Or maybe it was just that the day had been long and strenuous.
That and I was still basically a prisoner in this place, no matter how welcoming they were being.
Trapped due to circumstances not my own.
But I was feeling less and less like I wanted to escape.
Maybe this was exactly how Stockholm Syndrome was formed.
Delicious food and adorable babies.
Definitely not grumbly, bossy bikers.
Nuh-uh, no sir, no way.
“What can I do to help?” I peeped, shoving off the wistfulness.
“Just make yourself whatever you want to drink.” Meems ticked her gray bun toward the refrigerator. “There’s tea and soda. Wine and beer. Silas is going to be back with milk from the club’s stock in just a minute if that’s more your flavor.”
She waddled around the counter with a large casserole dish.
It smelled as near to heaven as I could imagine.
Kai grabbed me by both cheeks and pushed in so close that our noses touched. His eyes were wide and emphatic. “Appwe juiwse.”
“Is that what you want to drink? Apple juice?” I basically cooed it. Apparently, I hadsuckertattooed across my forehead because I was pretty sure I’d give this kid anything he wanted.
He nodded vehemently.
I looked to Elena for approval before my foolish gaze went hunting around the room like I was looking for clues.
Where was his mom, anyway?
“He can have half a cup,” she said before she looked at Kai. “So you don’t get your belly full of juice too fast.”
“Kai’sbewwyishungee.” He grabbed his chubby belly and squeezed it.
I choked over a laugh.
No doubt, this child had every person on the property wrapped around his finger.
I carried him into the kitchen, hooked on my hip, then pulled the bottle of apple juice from the fridge.
“Glasses are in the cabinet on the left,” Elena told me.
I found a plastic one with a lid for Kai, grabbed a glass one for me, filled his half full, then decided to do the same with mine.
“We match.” Kai bobbed his head, peeking up at me for affirmation.
My chest pulsed and spasmed. “I guess we do, don’t we?”
“Can you hold that?” I asked, handing him his cup.
“I am big.”
Sufficient answer, and I was mumbling, “You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” as I carried him into the little dining area.
