Chapter 28
twenty-eight
LUCY
Aidan’s finally home today after what has been the longest three weeks of my life.
I haven’t texted or called to ask to see him, even though I want to.
God, I want to. He needs some time with Isla first, though.
I know how much it kills him to miss even the smallest things, like her new favorite song and the funny way she says mermaid.
That little voice of hers is everything to him.
So instead, I bake.
Two pies. One unnecessarily complicated. One safe and familiar. There’s flour on my elbows, sugar under my nails, and I’m just trying not to watch the clock.
It’s fine. This is fine. He’s home, and that’s what matters.
And yet, every time my phone buzzes, my breath catches for a second.
I’m so lost in my own head that I almost don’t hear the light knock at my door. When it comes again, a little more insistent this time, I frown.
I wipe my hands on the dish towel, wiping my forehead with the back of my wrist as I make my way to the door. When I pull it open, my heart nearly stops.
Aidan stands there, looking exhausted but somehow more handsome than ever.
His hair is slightly damp as if he’s just showered, and there’s a hint of stubble along his jaw.
What actually catches me off guard is the bouquet of white peonies in his hands—massive, full blooms that look impossibly soft against his calloused fingers.
“Surprise,” he says, voice gravel-deep and making my knees wobble.
Then I notice Isla peeking out from behind his legs, beaming. She’s holding a single peony that looks comically large in her hands.
“We brought you flowers!” she announces proudly. “Daddy said they’re your favorite and that ladies like surprises.”
My heart lurches, awe and ache colliding in my chest. My first instinct is to throw my arms around him, press my mouth to his, and tell him exactly how much I’ve missed him.
Instead, I crouch down to Isla’s level, a smile stretching across my face as I reach for the flower in her outstretched hand.
“Ladies do like surprises,” I say softly, glancing up at Aidan. “Especially ones like this.”
I take the single peony from her small hands, careful not to crush the delicate petals. “It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you, sweetheart.”
When I stand, Aidan’s eyes lock with mine.
“These are beautiful,” I say, nodding to the bouquet he’s still holding. “How did you know they were my favorite?”
Aidan shifts his weight, a hint of color creeping up his neck. “I noticed you always have fresh ones on the counter at the café,” he says. “White peonies in that blue vase. Every time I’ve come in, they’re there.”
My heart flips. He noticed. All those times he came into the café with Isla, sitting at that corner table by the window, he was paying attention to details I didn’t think anyone cared about.
“You’re observant,” I tell him, unable to keep the smile from my face.
“When it matters,” he admits, finally extending the bouquet toward me.
I take them, our fingers brushing in the exchange. Even that brief contact sends electricity racing up my arm.
“Thank you… I thought you’d be spending time with Isla tonight. Not that I’m not glad you’re here. I most definitely am.”
“We have been. All day. But someone…” he shoots her a teasing side-eye, “wouldn’t stop asking when we could come see Lucy.”
Isla beams up at me, proud and entirely unbothered by the implication. “Daddy missed you, too,” she says, matter-of-factly. “He said so.”
Aidan’s cheeks flush, and he clears his throat. “Looks like you’re baking.”
“I sure am. Some pies with way too much sugar.” I shoot a wink in Isla’s direction. “I could definitely use an assistant.”
“Think you wanna help?” Aidan asks her. “Might be a good idea to wash those sticky hands first.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes! Where’s the sink?”
I point toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s that second door just there.”
She bolts, and the moment she rounds the corner, Aidan turns back to me.
He doesn’t waste a second before stepping forward and pressing his lips to mine. It’s not a soft, tentative kiss. Hardly a hello.
It’s powerful and full of heat, and I’m breathless before I even register what’s happening.
I gasp, and he takes it as the invitation it is, his lips parting to deepen the kiss.
His free hand finds my waist, pulling me closer, pressing me against his solid chest. The peonies brush against my shoulder as he shifts, his tongue sweeping in slow, deliberate strokes that make my head spin.
I melt into him, my free hand sliding up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. It’s been three weeks of nothing but his voice through the phone, and now he’s here, solid and real and—
The patter of small feet echoes down the hallway. Aidan pulls back swiftly, his breathing ragged as he puts a respectable distance between us. His eyes hold mine for one heated moment before he composes himself, running a hand through his hair just as Isla bounces back into the room.
“My hands are super clean,” she announces, holding them up for inspection. “See? No germs.”
I smooth down my shirt with my free hand and try to control my breathing. “Perfect timing. I was just about to put the filling in the pie crust.”
We head to the kitchen, and I set the bouquet on the counter. “These need water. Would you mind grabbing me a vase from the cabinet above the sink?”
While Aidan searches for the vase, I pull a stool over so Isla can reach the counter.
“We’re making cherry pie, which means we need to mix these cherries with sugar and a little bit of this special powder that makes everything thicken up.
” Her eyes widen with excitement as I hand her a wooden spoon.
“Just stir everything together, nice and gentle.”
Aidan retrieves a glass vase from the cabinet and fills it with water. His movements are careful as he unwraps the peonies, trimming the stems with scissors I didn’t even see him find. There’s something mesmerizing about watching his large, rough hands handle something so delicate with such care.
He arranges the flowers, adjusting them with surprising attention to detail, making sure each bloom has its place. When he’s satisfied, he sets them on the counter near the window where the afternoon light catches the ivory petals.
Then he leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching us with an amused expression. “Be careful with that spoon. Remember what happened with the pasta sauce at home?”
“I’ll be super careful,” Isla promises, gripping the utensil with determination.
I measure out the cornstarch and sugar, adding them to the bowl of cherries. “Okay, now we mix it all together.”
Isla attacks the task with enthusiasm, stirring so vigorously that cherry juice splashes up from the bowl.
“Whoa there,” I laugh, placing my hand over hers to slow her down. “Like this, see? Gentle circles.”
She nods, trying to mimic my movements, but her enthusiasm can’t be contained. As she dips the spoon back into the mixture, her elbow knocks against the bowl, sending it teetering toward the edge of the counter.
“Isla—” Aidan lunges forward, but he’s a second too late.
The bowl tips over, sending a crimson wave of cherry filling cascading down the front of his clean shirt. It splashes across his chest and drips down onto his jeans, leaving him looking like something from a horror movie.
We all freeze. Isla’s mouth forms a perfect O of shock, her eyes wide with horror. Aidan stands there, arms outstretched, cherry juice dripping from his fingertips onto my kitchen floor.
Then Isla giggles. It starts small, a tiny sound that bubbles up from her chest, and then it grows until she’s doubled over, clutching her stomach.
“Daddy looks like a monster!” she howls, pointing at the red stains spreading across his shirt.
I press my lips together, trying desperately to maintain my composure, but it’s impossible. A snort escapes me, then another until I’m laughing, too, tears forming at the corners of my eyes.
Aidan looks down at himself, then back at us. His eyes narrow.
“Glad I could provide today’s entertainment,” he mutters dryly, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth gives him away.
I’m wheezing at this point. “I’m so sorry,” I say, breathless through my laughter, grabbing the nearest dish towel. “Here, let me—”
“Don’t.” He lifts a hand, his palm sticky and glistening with pie filling. “If you touch me, you’re going down with me.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask, my voice still quivering with laughter. I hold the dish towel out as a peace offering, staying just out of his reach.
He takes a predatory step forward. “Consider it a promise, lass.”
Isla’s still giggling, perched on her stool and watching us with bright, curious eyes. “Lucy’s gonna get all sticky, too!”
“Not if I can help it,” I say, backing away slowly, the towel clutched to my chest.
Aidan glances down at his ruined shirt, then back at me, his eyes darkening with mischief. “Come here, Lucy,” he says. “Don’t you want a hug?”
“Don’t you dare!” I laugh, retreating until my back hits the refrigerator. “You’re dripping all over my floor!”
A wicked grin spreads across his face as he lunges forward, impossibly quick.
Before I can dodge, he’s on me, strong arms wrapping around my waist and lifting me clean off the floor in one fluid motion.
I squeal as he spins me around, pressing his cherry-covered torso against me, the sticky sweetness soaking through my apron.
“Aidan!” I shriek, squirming in his grip as my feet dangle helplessly above the ground. His laughter rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating against me as he holds me.
Isla’s giggles fill the kitchen as she claps her hands. “You match!”
“That was the plan,” Aidan murmurs against my ear, his voice low enough that only I can hear. He sets me down slowly, his hands lingering at my waist.