Page 32 of Sweet Escape (Whispering Oaks Ranch #1)

He reaches for me, twining our fingers, and it’s the exact reassurance I need to know whatever it is I’m feeling isn’t going to last forever.

I might stumble for a while, but eventually I’ll find my footing, and I’ll have Wilder by my side helping guide me.

That’s enough for me. His friendship is enough for me.

Before I can think better of it, I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss his cheek, feeling the roughness of his beard against my lips.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“Nothing. Take me home.”

“Ok, Emmy Lou. We’re going to lift the spoon very carefully now,” I say, holding onto her hand while we raise a measuring spoon filled to the brim with granulated sugar. Her hand wobbles beneath mine, and some of the sugar dumps onto the island.

“Uh oh,” she mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok, Em. We can clean it up after. Keep going.” Once we reach the rim of the mixing bowl, I place one hand on the base of the spoon. “Ok, now tip it into the bowl.”

Emmy squeals. “I did it!”

“You sure did. Wanna try to crack an egg?”

She nods, her little pigtails bouncing with each movement.

“Alright. We’ll do it into a small bowl in case some of the shell falls in. Take this one,” I say, placing an egg into the palm of her hand. It’s bigger than her fist, and I’m left wondering if this might’ve been a bad idea. Oh well, no turning back now.

I guide her hand to the edge of the ceramic bowl and tap the rim, creating a small fissure in the shell. “See that? Now we’ll take our thumbs and pull the sides apart. Do you think you could do that?”

“Uh huh!”

She fumbles with the egg, recovering with impressive speed, before placing her thumbs in the crack. The egg splatters a little as she attempts to pry them apart, and half of the shell ends up in the bowl with the egg.

“Oh noooo,” she whines, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

“You did such a good job for your first time. Wanna know a secret?”

She perks up, leaning in like I’m about to tell her something completely mind-blowing.

“I sometimes drop the shells, too, but we can pick them right up and pretend it didn’t happen.

” To demonstrate, I pluck the half shell out of the bowl and toss it into the garbage can beside t he island.

“See? Just like new. We all make mistakes sometimes. The important thing is that we don’t give up. Wanna try again?”

I glance up and lock eyes with Wilder. He’s standing in the archway between the kitchen and the living room with his arms crossed over his chest as he so often does, watching as I teach Emmy the finer points of my fake it ‘til you make it mantra.

His lips tip into a small smile, and he nods.

I hand Emmy another egg, and she cracks it flawlessly this time.

“That was A-MA-ZING!” I say, pulling her in for a side hug. “Now we add the vanilla to the eggs and pour that into the bowl with the rest of the ingredients.”

She helps me measure out the fragrant vanilla extract and, with a much steadier hand this time, tips it into the small bowl with the eggs.

There’s a giant smile on her face as she starts to get the hang of things, and that same expression is mirrored in Wilder every time I sneak a glance.

He’s so proud of his little girl, it makes my chest ache.

Once all of the ingredients have been combined into the large ceramic bowl, I lock it into place and turn on the stand mixer.

Emmy startles and covers her ears momentarily, before she adjusts to the noise and watches the mixer attachment spin around in the bowl. “Wooooow.”

I adjust the cupcake liners to keep myself busy while the mixer does its job. Once everything is silky smooth, I dip an ice cream scoop into the bowl and fill each hole in the cupcake pan with an equal amount of batter. Emmy licks her lips, eyeing the bowl of chocolate cupcake mix.

After scraping the sides of the bowl, I hand her the spoon and lean over to whisper in her ear, my eyes locked on Wilder’s. “My mommy always told me the best part of making cupcakes is when you get to lick the spoon.”

She takes a big lick, and her eyes light up when the flavor hits her tongue. She doesn’t stop until the spoon is completely clean and her face is smeared with chocolate. While she’s occupied, I slide the cupcakes into the oven and set the timer.

“Y’all having fun without me?” Wilder asks, sweeping a finger through some of the batter left in the bowl. He brings his finger to his mouth, and I watch as if it’s happening in slow motion. His tongue swirls, his lips purse, he moans,and my panties melt.

“Daddy!” Emmy squeals and all but throws herself off the counter and into Wilder’s arms, snapping me out of my shameless ogling.

He rubs their noses together, then kisses her forehead. “Hi, Angel. You having fun with Livie?”

“Mhm. We’re making cupcakes!”

“Is that so?” The way he’s looking at Emmy fills me with a sense of anticipation for when I get to see him with our baby in his arms and that same look of pure adoration on his face. Not to toot my own horn, but I picked a good one—even if it wasn’t intentional.

“Yep! Livie said we’s gonna decorate them, too.”

“After they’re cooled down. I have all kinds of decorations like frosting and sprinkles,” I say. “Maybe even some edible glitter.”

“Can Daddy help?” she asks, glancing back at me.

“Of course. The more the merrier.”

Wilder chuckles. “I don’t think I’m qualified to be a cupcake decorator, but I’m more than happy to be the official taste tester.”

“Nope. If you wanna eat ‘em, you’ve gotta make ‘em pretty first. Those are the rules.” I prance over to the bowl of chocolate buttercream I made earlier and scoop it into a piping bag.

I search through my decorating kit for some sprinkles and toppers.

Holding up a shaker full of rainbow nonpareils, I ask, “What do you think of these, Em?”

She scrunches up her nose and vehemently shakes her head. Just then, the oven timer goes off.

“I’ll get it,” he says. “You two focus on the sprinkles.”

Wilder bends to take the cupcakes out of the oven, giving me a perfect view of his round ass.

I can’t help but stare for just a little bit longer than is appropriate before he stands and places the cupcakes on the cooling rack, sliding them into the fridge without prompting.

How did he know to do that, and why is that hot?

I shake myself back to the task at hand. “What about these?” I ask, holding up some sugar pearls in one hand and a shaker of pink confetti hearts in the other. She hops up and down on the spot, clapping her little hands excitedly. “The princess has spoken.”

Emmy giggles.

“I guess that makes you the queen,” Wilder says matter-of-factly, swiping his finger through more of the leftover batter.“Why don’t you go play, Emmy girl? We’ll call you when it’s time to decorate the cupcakes.”

She nods and darts off to her room, where a plethora of toys await.

Wilder stalks over to me with purpose, something heated in his gaze.

“You’ve got a little something right…” In lieu of finishing his sentence, he thumbs the corner of my mouth, depositing a smear of cupcake batter, pulling down slightly on my bottom lip.

His eyes dart to his handiwork before he replaces his thumb with his mouth, licking ever so slowly at the seam of my lips.

My mouth opens on a gasp, and he slides his tongue against mine.

The taste of chocolate mixed with something entirely Wilder fills my senses, and I melt into him, my arms wrappin g languidly around his neck.

One hand slides into his hair as he deepens the kiss, pushing me up against the fridge.

The cereal boxes jostle with the force of the movement, and I wince, waiting for a crash that never comes.

I smile against his lips and sink back into his touch.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, getting lost in each other.

Eventually, I find the presence of mind to pull away, breathless.

When was the last time I made out with someone like that—kissing, tasting, exploring—with no expectation for more?

I don't know if anything has ever felt quite the same, and I’m afraid I won’t ever get enough.

“We should call Emmy. The cupcakes should be ready now.”

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear and tugs on the hem of my shirt, fixing my somewhat disheveled appearance before he heads down the hall to find his daughter. I rest my head back against the cool metal of the fridge, closing my eyes and willing my heart to calm its frenzied pace.

What are we doing? We’re not together—that’s clear.

But we’re not not together, either. It’s like this weird version of friends with benefits, but I’m also having his baby and living in his house.

I don’t know what to make of it. Wilder has been more attentive and supportive in the last four months than Jake ever was, and isn’t that a sobering thought?

He’s been like a partner in every way that matters, but I can’t call him mine. That feels… unfair.