27. Maisie #2
I dip a finger into the bowl, taste the dough, and squint up at him. “Did you put sugar in this?”
“Yeah,” he says, brows furrowing. “Wait. I think. I mean… that canister was open so I just kinda?—”
I lift a brow, my lips twitching in amusement. “Are you sure it was sugar or baking powder?”
His brows tug together and he blows out a breath. “Okay but in my defense,” he says, taking a cautious step back, “they’re both white powders, and I have absolutely no clue what the hell I’m doing. But you’re smiling and that’s all I really wanted, so technically, I win.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I say, rolling my eyes.
He grins, that lopsided smile, and boops my nose. “And you’re adorable.”
I roll my eyes again, but I’m smiling when he sets the bowl down and pulls me close. His arms slide around my waist like it’s second nature.
He smiles, leaning down to kiss my temple. “Hi,” he murmurs, breath brushing against my skin.
“Hi,” I whisper back, my voice embarrassingly soft.
He laughs, low, scratchy. “You came back.”
“You bribed me with cookies.”
Austin grins. “I would’ve bribed you with the moon if you asked.”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying not to smile. “Who knew Austin Rhodes was such a sap?”
He shrugs, his eyes locked on mine. “Only for you.”
God. The way he says it, makes something flutter low in my stomach.
I don’t trust my voice, so I reach for one of the cookies from the tray instead. It’s kind of lumpy and weirdly shaped, but still warm, and I turn it over in my hand.
He leans back, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I know you like baking,” he says. “But dorm kitchens suck, so if you ever wanna use a real oven… mine’s always open.” His eyes flash. “As is my bedroom door.”
I snort, shaking my head. “So generous.”
Austin just winks, completely shameless. But then something flickers in my brain.
“Wait.” I tilt my head at him. “How do you know I like baking?”
His whole body stills for a half-second. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair, suddenly very focused on straightening the already-straight dish towel hanging on the oven handle. “I think… you told me. Probably during tutoring or something.”
My eyebrows scrunch together. “I don’t think I remember that.”
He shrugs again. “Maybe it came up. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.” He flashes another grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Either way, you’ve got a standing invitation to use my oven. And Nathan’s stand mixer. He won’t mind. He’s a saint.”
I laugh, and step into his space without thinking, leaning my head against his chest. His hands settle low on my back, fingers flexing slightly, and I feel him breathe me in.
Then his thumbs start moving—slow, lazy little circles against the fabric of my shirt—and I swear I could melt on the spot.
When I look up again, he’s already watching me. His fingers come up to tuck a loose piece of hair behind my ear, and my breath catches. It’s that look. The one that makes me feel like I don’t have to be anyone but myself. Like I’m enough, just like this.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. He leans in, slowly, and our lips meet in a kiss that’s so soft and so perfect, I feel my knees threaten to give out.
He pulls me closer, his hands tightening on my waist. One hand slides down, trailing lower until it cups my ass, giving it a firm squeeze.
I break the kiss on a gasp. “You just touched my ass.”
He grins. “Mhmm. Wanna touch more.”
I glance up at him, my eyes widening. “Like what?”
“Every single part of you,” he whispers, his lips tugging into a smirk.
The heat in my face spreads down my neck. My brain, unhelpfully, conjures the thought of what it’ll feel like to be completely naked with him. To have Austin touch me like that.
My breath catches. He must notice, because his brows pull together slightly. He leans back just enough to search my face, one hand still resting on my cheek, his thumb brushing gently over my skin.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod. “Yeah. Just…” I pause, trying to untangle the knot in my chest. “Still wrapping my head around this.”
He tilts his head. “This?”
“You,” I say quietly. “This whole thing.” My gaze drifts to where his hand rests at my waist. “I keep expecting you to remember the kind of girls you usually date.”
He goes quiet.
And instantly, I regret saying it.
God, I hate how fragile my voice sounds. How small it feels to admit that out loud.
But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he brings his hand to my cheek, and tilts my chin up with the lightest pressure until I’m forced to meet his eyes.
“Maisie,” he says, quietly. “I’ve never dated anyone before you.”
I blink.
“You’re the only girl I’ve taken on a real date,” he continues, holding my gaze. “The only one I’ve actually wanted to spend time with.”
My throat tightens, and something deep in my chest squeezes. Hard.
“And,” he adds, lips twitching slightly, “you’re the only girl I’ve baked for. Not well, obviously,” he admits with a chuckle. “But I tried.”
I can’t speak. I can’t do anything but look at him.
“I like you,” he says, running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “And I know I joke around a lot, and flirt and tease, but I mean it. I’ve never liked anyone how I like you.”
I step in closer and rest my forehead against his chest, closing my eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whisper.
His hand lifts to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading gently into my hair. “That’s okay,” he murmurs. “Neither do I.”
I pull back slightly to glance up at him. “You’re really sure about me?”
Because if he changes his mind, if he one day comes to realize that this—that I’m—not what he wants… I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it.
He meets my gaze without flinching. “I’m sure about nothing but you.” His fingers trail along my jaw, cupping my face. “What about you? Are you sure about me?” he asks, quiet.
I nod. “I am,” I assure him, feeling my lips pull into a smirk. “Even if you suck at baking.”
He lets out a laugh, burying his lips in my hair as he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You want some Oreos instead?”
I hum, smiling. “Do you have peanut butter?”
He freezes a bit, his smile widening. “What a weird combination.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” I tell him.
He chuckles, his hand flexing on my hips. “What my baby wants, my baby gets,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “The only dessert I really want is you, anyway.”
He wags his brows at me, and I roll my eyes just before he cups my face and leans down to press his lips against mine.
And I smile against his mouth, because this is starting to feel real. And I’m finally starting to let myself believe that I can trust it. That it’s mine.
That he’s mine.