Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
brANDON
N aomi shifts against me, trying to wiggle out of my arms. Not happening. I tighten my hold, burying my face in her hair.
“Brandon.” She squirms. “I need to get up.”
“Nope.” I tangle our legs. “Sorry, but I signed up for this lifetime subscription service.”
Her laugh vibrates through my body. “What are you talking about?”
“Premium Naomi cuddles.” I nip at the skin of her throat. “Very exclusive. Wait list’s a mile long.”
She tries another escape attempt. I counter by rolling us so she’s trapped under me, her eyes sparking with mock annoyance.
“You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly charming.” I nuzzle her neck. “Impossibly handsome. Impossibly?—”
“Full of yourself?”
“That too.” My fingers find that spot on her ribs that makes her squeal. “But you knew what you were getting into.”
She manages to free one hand, poking my chest. “I definitely didn’t sign up for morning breath.”
“Package deal, cupcake.” I capture her hand, bringing it to my lips. “Besides, your signature’s right here.”
“I don’t see any signature.”
“It’s invisible. Written in secret cuddle ink.” I drop my weight carefully, pinning her completely. “Only visible to extremely talented chefs.”
“Oh really?” Her fingers thread through my hair. “And what else does this invisible contract say?”
“That you’re required to stay in bed with said extremely talented chef for at least another hour.” I brush my nose against hers. “It’s very legally binding.”
“Sounds serious.”
“Very serious. Breaking it could result in severe penalties.”
“Like what?”
“More cuddles. Possibly kisses.” I trace her jawline. “I don’t make the rules.”
“Clearly.” Her breath hitches as I grind against her. “What about my subscription to pancakes?”
“Do you have one?”
“How do I get one?” Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my chest, igniting a fire.
“Well… there might be a special promotion running. Limited time offer.”
“And what would that involve?”
“Let me check the terms and conditions.” I shift to look at her properly. The morning light turns those brown eyes golden. “Ah, yes. One kiss required for premium pancake access.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Just one?”
“Per pancake.” I capture her lips, tasting her soft moan. “Though I might be willing to negotiate a bulk discount.”
“And what if I want waffles instead?”
“Ooh, now that’s a whole different contract.” I steal another quick kiss. “Much more complicated terms and conditions.”
“More complicated than pancakes?”
“Way more.” I run my hands up her thigh, rolling us around to have her on top of me. “Waffles require extensive paperwork. Multiple signatures. Possibly a notary.”
“A notary?” She grinds down on my dick. “For waffles?”
“I don’t make the rules, cupcake.” I grip her hips. “But I’m willing to start the application process right now.”
“And what’s step one of this application process?”
“Thorough inspection.” I flip us again, pinning her wrists above her head. “Need to make sure you meet all the requirements.”
She arches against me. “Such as?”
“Patience.” I nip at her collarbone. “You know what I love most?”
“That you get to make me breakfast?”
“That you’re asking for food.”
“Don’t make it a thing.” She fights my grip, stubborn as ever, even when we both know it’s useless.
Here, I thought we were making progress.
“Why not?” I ask.
The tiniest shake, her gaze lowering as if the words are too much to hold onto.
“Why can’t I be happy that you want to eat?” I ask.
Her silence speaks volumes. I release her wrists, propping myself up to really look at her.
“Because.” She traces patterns on my chest. “It stops being mine. It becomes a thing. A pressure. And then?—”
“And then it’s not about what you want anymore.” I thread our fingers together. “It’s about them. Like you’re letting them down if you can’t keep it up.”
She nods, still not meeting my gaze.
“Hey.” I tilt her chin up. “I’m not celebrating or making a big deal. I’m just happy. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yeah.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “Because I’m not expecting anything. You want pancakes? Great. You change your mind? Also fine. I’ll still be here, being impossibly charming either way.”
That gets me a small smile. Progress.
She buries herself back in my arms, her breath shaky against my skin. The pancakes can wait. I cup the back of her head and let my other hand rest on the small of her back.
Her voice is so faint it nearly slips past me. “It started in college.”
“The eating disorder?”
“The safety.” A small breath ghosts over my skin. “You’d cook for the whole frat house, and I could eat. Food didn’t seem so… terrifying when you were around.”
My chest tightens. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were Brandon Milton.” She lets out a small chuckle. “Confident, sexy, cocky, the guy who could make a five-course meal in a beer-stained kitchen. Why would you want someone who couldn’t even eat a fucking sandwich without panicking?”
I tangle my fingers in her hair, fighting the urge to shake some sense into her. “You really think that’s what I saw?”
“What else could you have seen?” Her fingers tremble against my skin, trying to make a pattern.
“I saw the girl who’d sit in the kitchen while I cooked, actually talking to me instead of trying to get in my pants.” I pin her hand to my chest, letting my heartbeat speak for me. “The one who’d help clean up after parties without being asked. Who knew the difference between dicing and julienne before I even explained it.”
“That’s just?—”
“The girl who’d beat me at beer pong. Who’d correct my accounting homework even though we weren’t even friends. And yeah, maybe I noticed how you’d only eat when I cooked.” My thumb traces her bottom lip. “But mostly, I noticed how fucking brilliant you were. How you never took anyone’s shit, including mine. My beautiful and delicious cupcake.”
She blinks rapidly, her lashes wet. “Why cupcake?”
“Because.” I trace the curve of her shoulder, memories of Mom flooding back.
The way she’d dance around the kitchen, calling Dad her ‘tiramisu’ because it was the dessert that won her over on their first date. How she’d ruffle Elijah’s hair and call him ‘sugar snap’ for his obsession with fresh peas straight from the garden. Nova… she was Mom’s ‘buttercup’, though she barely remembers it now.
“Mom used to say that food names were like little love letters.” The words scrape past the tightness in my throat. “She’d tell us that calling someone by their favorite food was the purest way to say ‘I love you’ without actually saying it.”
Her fingers go rigid. “And cupcake…”
“Second week of college.” My thumb traces circles on her palm. “You were in the library. Someone left a cupcake on your table… Probably some guy trying to impress you.”
“I don’t even remember that.”
“I do.” My voice is quieter now. “Because I watched you push it around for an hour before you finally took a bite. And when you did? You closed your eyes like you were bracing for impact.”
“You stood there like a creep watching me?”
“A charming, panty-dropping creep.” I nod, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “I wanted to see you enjoy food. And it worked.”
Her breath catches, eyes flickering between mine, searching. As if she’s seeing me, really seeing me.
“Your eyes lit up at that first taste. You actually smiled. And it wasn’t that fake one you gave everyone else.” My mouth lingers against her knuckles, silent devotion in every second. “It was the first time I’d seen you genuinely enjoy food.” I stalked her way before she even knew I existed. “After that, you stumbled into my kitchen. I did hope to have the chance to talk to you.”
Her breath catches. “That’s why you…”
“Yeah.” I swallow against the lump rising in my throat. “Mom would’ve loved that, said it was fate or something. She believed food was just another language for love.”
“Brandon…” Her voice wavers.
“So yeah, cupcake.” I brush away the tear tracking down her cheek. “That’s why.”
“Brandon?”
“Hmm?”
“I am hungry.”
Those three words, from her, mean more than any ‘I love you’ could. “Then let’s feed you, cupcake.”
The laptop screen blurs as I scroll through another potential venue. Too small. Next. Too far from downtown. Next. Too?—
“Here.” Naomi sets a steaming mug by my elbow. “Before you go cross-eyed.”
I stop her with a gentle grip, drawing her down onto my lap. “My savior.”
“Dramatic much?” She settles against me, peering at the screen. Her plate from breakfast sits empty on the counter, actually empty, not just pushed around empty. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“Kitchen’s outdated. Would need at least fifty grand in renovations.” I rest my chin on her shoulder, breathing in her familiar apple pie scent. How does she manage to smell like that? “The one before had potential, but the lease terms were garbage.”
“Mmm.” She reaches for my coffee and takes a sip. “What about that place on Fourth?”
“Too close to Elliot’s.” My fingers find the hem of her shirt, tracing idle patterns. “Don’t want to compete directly.”
“Smart.” She sets the mug down and scrolls to the next listing. “Oh, this one?—”
“Has character,” I finish, studying the exposed brick walls and high ceilings. The layout’s decent, location’s prime. “Could work.”
“The numbers look solid.” She turns, studying my face. “You’re really doing this.”
It’s not quite a question. I meet her gaze, steady. “We.”
Her lips part, slightly. She wasn’t expecting it. Then, slowly, she nods, and a heartwarming smile breaks across her face, real and bright. “We.”
A year ago, I couldn’t look at a kitchen without drowning in grief. Now…
“Want to check it out?” she asks. “Maybe we could visit it today.”
“We’re at your dad’s later. Did you forget?”
She shifts slightly, gaze flickering back to the screen. “What if we don’t go?”