Chapter 12 #2
The timer on the oven starts to go off, and Mariah turns to pull the tray of finished cookies from the oven before replacing it with a second, unbaked sheet.
The racks she uses to cool baked goods are lined on the counter behind us, so her back is to my brothers as she goes to work removing the cookies with a spatula.
That means I’m the only one who sees the four of them giving each other meaningful looks.
Communicating their thoughts without words.
And like so much else that’s going on right now, I don’t fucking like it. So I turn away. I don’t care what they think about me. I don’t give a shit about their theories on my behavior toward Mariah. All I care about is that they don’t try to steal her attention from—
She lifts one of the warm cookies between us, voice soft as she brings it to hover in front of my lips. “Want to taste?”
Desperately, but I’m going to have to settle for a cookie instead.
Opening my mouth, I let her feed me, biting off a chunk of sweet, gooey, buttery goodness.
I don’t mean to groan, but it’s honestly the only response something this fantastic deserves.
I chew it way longer than I should because I don’t want to give up the taste, but eventually I have to swallow it down, licking my lips for any lingering hint of flavor.
Mariah gifts me with a smile that reveals the slight dimple in her left cheek. “Good?”
I can’t look away from her face. From the happiness that is so often there. The kind of happiness that hasn’t been in my life for years. “Perfect.”
Mariah leans closer, voice conspiratorial as she whispers, “You want me to tell them they can’t have any?”
I’m so distracted by her closeness. By how easy it would be to reach out and touch her—to kiss her—that it takes a second for her offer to sink in.
I can imagine the looks on my brothers’ faces when she tells them they can’t have any of her cookies, and it’s almost worth it.
But then I imagine the looks on their faces when they get to taste the miracle she just mixed up, and decide it will be the best kind of torture for them to know she’s here with me. Making cookies. Baking cakes. Laughing at my jokes. Sitting close to me on the couch at night while we share popcorn.
All while they’re sitting alone in their houses, with nothing but their work—or a horny poodle—to keep them company.
“They can have some.” My eyes move to where my brothers are watching our interaction with unveiled interest. “But only because I’m feeling generous.”
Mariah finishes baking the cookies while my brothers bicker amongst themselves, occasionally making her laugh with their antics.
Once all the cookies are done and packed up, I’m practically shoving them out the door.
I might not hole up in my rooms anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m interested in dealing with a houseful of people on a regular basis.
The noise is like fingernails on a chalkboard.
Not to mention how big of a struggle it is to act normal when I know they’re analyzing everything I say and do in regards to Mariah. It puts me on edge because I don’t like wondering what they see. Or if they’ll be as good at ignoring what’s between us as I am.
Mariah is crouched down, loading the dishwasher, when I glance away from the counters I’m scrubbing and notice her expression looks wrong.
So does the color of her skin. Her eyes lose their focus as I drop the rag in my hand and scoop her up, holding her against my chest. “I need you to not pass out.”
Mariah’s head drops to my shoulder, her eyes closing. “I wasn’t going to pass out.” Her lips curve, because somehow she even smiles at a time like this. “I was just thinking about it.”
Like last time, I sit on the couch, keeping her against me as I run my hand over her face, smoothing across her skin as I brush back the loose strands of hair.
“Then I need you to stop thinking about it.” I’ve been waiting for her to tell me what’s going on.
I haven’t wanted to overstep or make her feel weird, but I can’t keep going on like this.
It hits too close to home, and I can’t fucking take it.
“You need to schedule a doctor's appointment.” I wait for her to look at me, holding her gaze once she does. “I mean it, Mariah. You need to have this checked out.”
Her next inhale is shaky, and for a second I think she’s about to confess. Instead, she attempts another smile, this one less bright than normal. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m probably just—”
I know what she’s about to argue, and I cut her off. “You’re not dehydrated. I make sure you get enough liquid every day.”
Mariah opens her mouth, ready to offer her second possible cause. I already know what it’s going to be too, so I don’t give her the opportunity.
“And don’t try to say it’s because you didn’t eat enough. You aren’t consuming as much as you should be, but it’s still enough to keep you conscious.”
Now it’s my turn to force in a breath. I know what I’m about to say next is going to change everything. Possibly for the worse. But I can’t let her hurt herself. Especially when it’s to keep a secret from me.
A secret she never really had.
My hand stills in her hair, but I can’t make myself pull it away as I confess to what I already know. “You’re passing out because you’re pregnant. And I really fucking need us to find out how to stop it from happening again.”