Page 23 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

When it’s over, I hold her against my chest, our bodies tangled, breath syncing slowly.

Outside, someone’s mowing their lawn. A dog barks down the street. The world keeps spinning.

But in here… in my arms?

She’s the only thing that matters.

Some moments don’t need music or grand declarations. Just skin on skin, breath on breath, and the quiet ache of two souls finally finding their way back to each other.

I press a kiss to her damp hair. “You okay?”

She nods, curling closer, her fingers tracing lazy lines across my chest.

She’s tucked against me, soft and warm on the sofa, her fingertips tracing lazy lines over my ribs like she’s memorizing me with touch alone.

I kiss her hair and breathe her in.

She shifts slightly and glances up at me, a little nervous smile playing at her lips. “I made you something.”

I blink down at her, surprised. “You made me something?”

Her teeth catch her bottom lip, like she’s unsure. “It’s not quite ready yet… it needs to cool.”

I lean in closer, nuzzling her nose. “You really made me something?”

She nods. “Patty called earlier. I asked her for some help. She gave me a few tips and talked me through it. I think it’s something you’ll love but…” Her voice drops. “If you don’t, it’s okay.”

God.

I sit up slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You made me something,” I repeat, slower this time, like I’m trying to wrap my head around the softness of it. The intention of it.

Her cheeks go pink, her eyes dropping shyly to my chest. “Of course.”

A tightness grips my chest. The kind that only ever comes from loving someone so completely it scares the hell out of you.

I cup her jaw gently, tilting her chin up until her eyes meet mine again. “You already own everything there is of me but my last name, you know that, right?”

She lets out a breath of laughter, embarrassed. Her blush deepens, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I kiss her slow, then smile against her lips as I whisper,

“Pretty sure you’ll own that too one day.”

I come down the stairs in sweats and a clean t-shirt, my hair still damp from the shower, the scent of whatever Mac’s baking already curling through the house like some kind of spell.

Laughter spills from the kitchen—raw, unfiltered.

The kind that only happens when the guys are talking shit and someone’s the target.

I round the corner and stop in the doorway.

Mac’s at the counter, cheeks flushed from the oven, flour streaked across her cheekbone like war paint. She’s smiling—smirking, actually. Chace is perched on the edge of the table, shoveling a scorched scone into his mouth like it’s the last bite on earth.

“Told you,” he says around a mouthful, eyes flicking to Mac. “Burnt or not, still better than anything Trey’s ever cooked. And no one had to call the fire brigade.”

Sam chuckles, arms crossed. “Alright, let’s go. Time to man up. You lost, Baker. A bet’s a bet.”

Trey’s dragging his feet, leaning on the counter like a man heading for the gallows. “I just think maybe we should’ve upped the stakes. Like…a tattoo or shaving my head.”

I head to the fridge, snort under my breath. “You’re really trying to renegotiate now?”

Grabbing the bottle of Jack, I set it down in front of him with a thud. “Drink up. You’re embarrassing yourself in front of Mac.”

Her brows lift. “Embarrassing? Please. I haven’t stopped laughing.”

“If it was a game that actually required skill, I would’ve mopped the floor with you, Macadamia Nut.”

“If it was poker,” she fires back, smug as hell. “I wouldn’t just win, I’d take the shirt off your back.”

“If you wanted me topless, Macaroni dearest, all you had to do—”

“Behave, Baker” I cut in, deadpan. “And be thankful. She’s not joking, man. Mac’s a shark at poker. Learned from her Grams and dad. Braden couldn’t beat her—and he made you his bitch on the regular.”

“I could’ve totally handled her.” Trey scoffs.

Chace snickers. “Guess you’re handling a Prince Albert now instead.”

Mac flashes a too-sweet smile, “Just make sure when they do it, they add sparkles. If I’m the reason your junk’s out of commission, it should at least have flair.”

Trey looks personally attacked. “You people are fucked up.”

Sam smirks. “Just think, you’re going to have to go a week or two without touching it.”

Chace throws in, “RIP to your sex life. Gone but never forgotten.”

I grin, arms crossed as I lean against the counter. “Who knew the great Trey Baker could be brought low by a single high card draw… all the sex you could be having…”

Trey flips us all off, grabs the bottle, and knocks back one shot. Then another. Then a third.

Silence stretches as he slams the bottle down with finality, like a man heading off to war.

He glares at Mac. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

She blows him a kiss. “And you’re lucky I didn’t make you get it pierced and dyed.”

He groans and storms out of the kitchen.

“Somebody get the fucking ice ready!” Trey calls out.

The room erupts.

Even Mac’s laughing now, bent over the counter, hair falling in her face.

And me? I just soak it all in—this noise, this chaos, these people I’d go to war for.

Especially her.