Chapter Fourteen #2
More therapeutic.
“I never eat desserts,” Caine admitted. “So Lorelei wouldn’t bother with whatever’s required to make them. I can have my agents pick up what you need. They’ll be here in an hour.”
I winced. There went being careful who I spoke to—I blamed him, flashing his sexy forearms. “Don’t be silly,” I countered. “We’ll make do with what we have. It’s nothing we can’t work around for today.”
Caine’s face adopted that vacancy which suggested he was vexed but instead of voicing it, he was drawing up solutions.
It was the same expression from when we’d discussed my clothes and I’d said I could still get use out of them.
It was as if he was disgruntled I didn’t have everything I needed, or the concept of “making do” was impossible for him to grasp because he’d never had to.
“It’s fine, Caine,” I expressed, setting a wooden spoon in the bowl before shuffling a few other bits over so there were two distinct work stations. “It’ll be funny to see what shapes we can make without the cookie cutters.”
He hesitated, but nodded and stepped around Minnie as if to station himself on her right. I waved him down.
“No, no, you come to this side,” I said absently, gesturing to the counter closest to me. “Then you won’t have to twist your head as much.”
Caine stilled and gazed at me, a look I didn’t recognise flickering in his eye before he nodded again and we switched places. I didn’t dwell on it.
Minnie squealed, looking up at him, then at me, and I slid her highchair closer to the bench so she could observe what was going on. I clipped the removable tray on the front, and piled it up with a few ingredients that were safe for her to eat.
“Here you go, sweetie,” I said, mussing her hair in encouragement. “You make us something tasty.”
Caine’s stony demeanour shifted, a priceless frown flashing across his brow before he could contain it. Like the thought of a child baking anything, and him potentially having to eat it, was one of his worst nightmares. I snorted.
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “It’s a sensory thing for her. She likes to be involved, but nothing she makes goes in the oven. That would probably be a hazard of some kind.”
He hummed. “We just leave her to her own devices?”
“Pretty much.” I shrugged. “The ingredients I’ve given her aren’t what we have. They’re safe for her to eat, so if she sticks her hands in her mouth, just let her explore.”
He made a sound of acknowledgement, and removed his finger brace before turning to the sink to wash his hands. I didn’t watch the stray water droplets roll down his forearms as he dried them.
Not even a bit.
I cleared my throat. “Have you ever baked before?”
“No,” he said, which didn’t stun me. “Though I’m sure it’s not too difficult.”
I scoffed at his arrogance. “We’ll see.”
I placed the two recipes in between us and everything we’d need was in the centre.
Caine followed the recipe for lemon cookies, and I left him to it.
If he thought it was so easy, then he didn’t need my help.
I did catch him side-eying me a couple of times, however, watching what I did with the equipment before carrying on.
It was strange. It had taken me almost two months to start doing this here because I was so protective of my hobby, my one outlet, and I didn’t want to have to defend it.
Or my reasons. But it wasn’t bothering me having him in my space, or having his gaze on me, perceiving my interests.
In fact, the company wasn’t . . . totally unwelcome.
I’d definitely assumed my hackles would be raised at least a tad, but I felt utterly calm.
“Where would the scissors be?” Caine queried, turning to scan the cabinets.
“You don’t know your way around your own kitchen?”
He stared at me as if I was an idiot. “Why would I? I pay someone to do it all for me.”
I huffed a laugh, wiping my hands before wandering over to the drawer to grab them. “There’s only right-handed ones, is that alright?”
The Alpha pinned me with a blank look, taking them from me when I handed them over. “If I can manage to fire a gun with my right hand, I can surely use a pair of scissors.”
“A yes would have sufficed,” I deadpanned, returning to my bowl. I picked up the electric scales and started measuring out the sugar. My mind screeched to a halt. “Wait, what do you need scissors for?”
“It says to cut the butter into small cubes,” he clarified.
My lips thinned.
“You can use a knife.”
He paused, staring at the recipe sheet for a moment, his eye twitching. He slowly set the scissors on the counter. “Ah.”
I didn’t laugh, that wouldn’t be fair, but a smile played on my lips all the same.
I watched him discreetly from the corner of my eye as he plucked a knife from the stand and started cubing the butter, steadying the block with his right and chopping with his left.
I had suspected he was ambidextrous, but I’d never paid particular attention to it until now.
He preferred his left hand—for ease, I assumed.
In their brace, the two injured fingers on his right stayed extended, no give, as was likely its purpose.
Without it, he could flex and bend them, but their range was limited, the joints moving as one instead of individually.
Though, I could distinctly remember them both curled bruisingly around my hips when he’d fucked me.
I forced my concentration back to my task.
We sailed through the steps in relative harmony, sticking to our designated workspaces.
Minnie had decided it was more fun to create destruction than play with the random concoction in her bowl, and Caine seemed relaxed, as if the mindlessness of it was taking him out of his head. I could relate—that was why I did it.
I hated to admit, but the domesticity of the scene had a warm and toasty feeling developing in my chest. We were almost like . . . a real family.
“Oh, no, did you drop it?” I cooed, looking down at the plastic spoon now on the floor.
Minnie made a frustrated noise, leaning over in her chair, her fingers splayed wide, trying to reach it.
My hands were in a state, having been mushing up dough on the floured worktop, getting it ready to roll out. “Just give me a—”
Caine crouched down, grabbing the spoon before rinsing it under the hot tap.
He waved it a little, letting it cool it down.
“There you are, princess,” he said, like it was the most natural word to come from his mouth, and handed it over.
She thanked him with a toothy smile, and he grazed his knuckle down her cheek before returning to his cookies.
My belly felt all funny.
“She’s a relatively calm child,” he observed, oblivious to the way I’d stilled in place, staring at him. “Destructive, but I haven’t heard her cry much.”
I jerked out of my stupor. “Uh, yeah, she’s a good girl.
For the most part. She’s in a good mood today.
Sometimes we do this and she refuses to sit still.
She’ll want to be at my hip, or be on the floor.
” I glanced down at her, smiling at the intense concentration she was directing toward the berry pulp between her fingers.
“You’ll know if she’s not having fun anymore. She’ll get fussy.”
“A bit like her father.”
“Which one?” I quipped, a smug look crossing my face. He just huffed a short half laugh through his nose.
It wasn’t long before our creations were in the oven, and Caine didn’t even mention my rustic shapes. He just eyed them with a faint jaw pop as if he was suppressing his judgement.
I set a timer.
Right on cue, Minnie started to shove at her tray and whine. “There we go,” I said, washing the remnants of dough from my fingernails. “She’s had enough of that.”
I dried my hands and lifted her from the chair, checking to see if she needed to be changed. She didn’t.
“She’s probably a little hungry,” I mused, glancing at the clock. It was a little early for her nap, and she’d had breakfast barely two hours ago, but most of it had ended up on the floor, so . . . “Can you hold her while I sort out her bottle?”
He reached out for her, but the way her foot hung, it dragged over my chest as he took her, and hot pain radiated from my nipple. I hissed.
“Are you hurt?” Caine asked, his gaze dropping to where I rubbed over the area.
“No, uh . . . just some chafing.” I woke up this morning with a sore pec on one side. Minnie had probably bit me or suckled too hard last night. I’d have to make sure to add salve later on. “No biggie.”
Caine nodded, though he didn’t really look appeased.
I distracted myself by grabbing my milk out the fridge and warming it to the right temperature. I offered him the bottle. “Do you want to feed her?”
He shifted her into the crook of his arm before taking it from me, and she accepted it greedily, curling her hands around it as he held it at an angle. “Don’t you breastfeed?”
“Yeah.” I heeded the ache in my chest again. “But she can have a bottle too. She doesn’t mind either way. To be honest, the milk is just to tide her over. She’ll get her lunch after she’s had her nap later.”
She typically only had milk twice a day now, once before her afternoon nap, and another before bed.
It was a comfort, like the equivalent of a warm hot chocolate to settle her before sleeping.
But sometimes, if she needed a little snack, she preferred this instead of anything solid.
There was no point wasting the contents of the fridge when I knew she wouldn’t be interested in it.
Caine hummed, gazing down at her. What was it about a ruthless gangster holding a baby that made me so broody?
I turned away, leaving them to it.
Once she was finished, he set the bottle down. “You need to—” He manoeuvred her, patting her back before I could finish my sentence. I raised a brow. “Have you been doing your research?”
“No,” he said flatly. “I’m not a complete imbecile.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Coulda fooled me.”