Page 45 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)
Amy
It takes a little longer than the promised twenty minutes, but eventually I hear Wyatt’s SUV approaching.
As he pulls into the garage, I look over the food I prepared one more time to make sure everything is in order.
Unbidden, the memory of doing the same right before that last “date” with Craig emerges, bringing along a flash of anxiety so strong my knees wobble.
The food is nothing fancy. What if Wyatt hates it?
I haven’t even asked him if he eats Coq au Vin.
What if he doesn’t eat mushrooms? A shudder runs through my entire body as I recall Craig’s disgusted look.
What if I used the wrong kind of mushrooms this time too?
“ Are you trying to poison me, Amy?” Cold sweat breaks out across my skin, my chest tightening and squeezing all the air from my lungs.
My clammy hands tremble, fingers curling into useless fists as I try to breathe, but each inhale is shallow, shaky, and never enough.
“ Useless bitch.” The words echo in my mind so loudly I don’t even hear Wyatt’s greeting, crying out in surprise when he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Amy? ”
Wyatt’s low, concerned voice pulls me back to the present.
For a long second, I’m torn between the terror-fueled instinct to run away screaming and the desperate desire to seek comfort in Wyatt’s arms. Fortunately, the latter wins and I throw myself at my husband, tightly wrapping my arms around him and hiding my face in the folds of his shirt.
I only realize how hard I’m shaking once I lean into the firm planes of his chest, solid as a rock. Exactly what I needed right now.
“Amy, what’s wrong?” Holding me close, Wyatt strokes my back and kisses the top of my head.
“Please, tell me. Was someone here? Did someone try to get in? Did someone send you a message?” He’s tense now, lifting his head from my hair to look around as if he expects masked men to jump from around every corner. “Talk to me, cupcake, please.”
“I-I’m s-sorry. If-if the mushrooms are wrong. I’m s-sorry. I really tried.” Great, now I’m sobbing again. Why do I have to be so broken?
“The mushrooms? What mushrooms? There’s no one here?”
The oddly specific question jolts me from my pointless wallowing. “N-no? Should there be?”
Relaxing an infinitesimal amount, Wyatt shakes his head. “No. Of course not. I just— Nevermind. So, will you please tell me what’s wrong? Did the store deliver the wrong kind of mushrooms or something?”
“N-no. I just, I’m sorry.” I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for.
It’s an automatic reaction at this point.
Whenever something happens, I immediately start apologizing, even if it’s clearly not my fault.
Until today, I never even realized I was doing it, or how pathetic it makes me look.
“I-I think I had a panic attack.” I’ve been reading about trauma responses for the past week, so I know enough to recognize it.
Wyatt stiffens again. “Because of me? God, Amy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare—”
“No! It had nothing to do with you.” The last thing I want is for Wyatt to blame himself. “It’s all Craig.” I spit the name out like rotten meat, and it still leaves a foul taste in my mouth. “Making the food and—and the mushrooms and I-I just— I’m not making any sense. I’m sorry. ”
Wyatt plants a soft kiss into my hair. “Don’t apologize. You are making sense. You’ve been through something traumatic and your reactions are natural. I just don’t want to make things worse.”
“You’re not. I feel safe with you.” Ironic but true. Sucking in a shaky breath, I blink to force the remaining tears out of my eyes before looking at Wyatt. His tender gaze melts away the last dredges of panic.
“Okay. But maybe you shouldn’t cook if it triggers you.”
I consider the idea for a second before firmly rejecting it.
“No. I love cooking. Giving it up just because it might occasionally bring back bad memories is not a solution.” I might not be an expert on trauma, but I’m pretty sure Miranda would agree.
I can ask her when we talk later today. Unlike my relationship with Wyatt, PTSD is a “safe” thing we can discuss, along with my complicated relationships with Craig and my mother.
“If I let him affect my life, it feels like Craig wins. Does that make any sense?”
“It makes perfect sense.” Wyatt gently kisses me before peering into the kitchen. “It smells delicious in here. I love mushrooms, by the way. Well, except those that cause hallucinations or death.”
Chuckling, I extricate myself from Wyatt’s arms to get a tissue. After blowing my nose unceremoniously, I gesture toward the back door. “I thought we’d eat outside.”
“Good idea. We need to enjoy the porch before it’s buried under six feet of snow,” Wyatt snickers as he grabs the pot with the stew and carries it outside.
“Six feet? Good god. Don’t the roads get completely blocked?” The thought of being snowed in is alarming. Then again, Wyatt has a ton of supplies in the basement, and if we were stuck here together, it might not be that bad. It might even be fun.
“Why do you think I drive a truck?” Wyatt asks, then hesitates. “We can always move somewhere else, even just for the few months in the year if you don’t like winter.”
God, he’s so sweet. “I love winter! ”
Wyatt snorts. “Yeah, just wait until you shovel a metric tonne of snow from the driveway every day. Let’s see if you still love winter then.”
“Probably not,” I admit. “But I’ll love it if I get to spend it with you.”
To save Wyatt from having to respond, I start loading his plate, ignoring the twinge of anxiety as I watch the mushrooms among the pieces of bacon. They’re the right kind, dammit, and they’re done well. I tasted them several times to make sure. There’s nothing for Wyatt to complain about.
There was nothing to complain about with the meal you made for Craig, either , a voice reminds me.
It’s been mostly silent once I accepted my attraction to Wyatt, but it still pipes up when I’m doubting myself or letting Craig’s crap influence me.
He was just being an asshole. Wyatt isn’t like that. Everything will be fine.
Still, I’m nervous as I watch Wyatt take the first bite and only relax when a blissful smile spreads on his face and he quickly shovels another huge spoonful into his mouth.
“Mmm.” The groan is so similar to the sound he makes when he comes that I have to stifle a giggle.
“God, this is delicious, Amy. Why aren’t you a chef in some fancy restaurant? ”
Hoping to hide my flushed cheeks, I focus on my plate.
“I’m not that good. I don’t have any schools or certificates or anything.
They always want them.” I know that because Kayla made me look up job postings a few years ago.
“I prefer baking anyway, and that’s just not…
I don’t know. No one would hire me without experience or references or fancy courses or degrees. ”
Wyatt raises an eyebrow. “Have you actually tried?”
“Of course not. I just looked at the job listings and knew I wasn’t good enough to even apply.” Seeing his frown, I quickly continue before he can say anything. “It’s fine. Really. I’m fine just occasionally baking a few cupcakes for someone who appreciates them.”
“Oh, I will definitely appreciate everything you make, cupcake, even if it means adding a few more workout hours to my schedule. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the tray with cupcakes cooling on the counter.
” He grins, his eyes sliding down my body with appreciation.
“Looks like I’m having two desserts today. ”
“You can’t have those. They aren’t finished yet. They still need filling and frosting.”
Wyatt’s gaze darkens, and he licks his lips in an exaggerated motion. “Filling and frosting, you say? I think my other dessert requires some filling as well. With how delicious it is, it won’t even take long to whip up some frosting on it.”
“Jesus Christ, Wyatt.” My cheeks are on fire now. How can he say things like that without blushing, as casually as if we were talking about the weather?
Wyatt chuckles. “That’s not a no.”
As much as I love how he always puts me first, making me come over and over until I physically can’t take any more, I have different plans for today. Gathering courage, I meet his seductive gaze head on. “Actually, it is a no.”
“Oh.” I watch carefully for signs of anger or even disappointment, but don’t see any. Wyatt merely shrugs, his smile shifting back into a PG-rated variant. “Okay. We can do something else before your therapy appointment. Maybe a few episodes of the Price of Passion?”
We’ve been watching the show from season one so that Wyatt is all caught up before the current season finale, but watching TV is not what I have in mind right now.
“Oh no, we’re going to have sex.” If I’m to talk about my relationship with Craig and my mother, I’ll need all the energy and self-confidence I can gather.
“But… It’s going to be on my terms.” I try to keep up a confident facade but fail spectacularly. “If…that’s okay with you?”
The hungry glint in Wyatt’s eyes suggests he’s more than okay with it. “I love it. I’m all yours, Amy. I mean, after I’ve finished this meal because there’s no way I’m letting any of it go to waste.”
A swarm of butterflies flutters around my stomach, making my heart ache in the sweetest way possible. I still don’t understand how I got so lucky to end up with someone as amazing as Wyatt, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m never letting him go.