Page 83 of The Last One You Loved

By the time the oven beeped, I’d not only shattered again, he’d had time to clean me and the counter up. The grin on his face was even cockier than before.

My fingers found the corners of his mouth. “When did you get this?”

“What?” he asked, biting my finger softly before moving away, grabbing potholders, and pulling the plates from the oven.

“That cocky, sure grin.”

He put the plates on the table instead of the counter, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to eat at the island again without thinking of what we’d done there.

He tucked my chair in for me and leaned down next to my ear. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“Cocky.”

I laughed. His hand went around my neck, squeezing playfully as his teeth nibbled on my earlobe. “Really, McK. Say it again.”

“Cocky. Cocky, cocky, cocky.”

He kissed me, wet and hard, before backing away.

“You’re definitely not a monk,” I said, my lips quirking.

And the laugh he let out filled my soul one more time. It was deep and free and utterly contagious.

I picked up the fork he’d placed by the plate and eyed the mound suspiciously.

“Trust me,” he said, his voice a soft lure.

“If I throw up, it will end all our sexy times.”

“You sound like Mila. You’re not going to throw up.”

He was already digging in, and I tipped my fork into the mix of food he’d piled together. The crumbled taco meat and lasagna over the salty tots was unexpected. But he was right. It was also good, a wild blend of flavors.

“Good, right?” he said.

“If I admit it, I feel like I’ll be adding to this enormous ego you’ve somehow grown in my absence. I feel the need to take Sadie’s side and humble you,” I teased, but his face grew serious, and I realized I’d reminded him of what we were both trying to forget—how I’d been gone for a decade.

He cleared his throat and put his fork down.

“I arrested Sybil last night.”

I lowered the bite I’d been about to put in my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked.

“Because I know having to do it causes you an enormous amount of stress. Just like me being here.”

“It was time,” he said. “I was tired of feeling like I was at her beck and call. It was weird though. She didn’t even mention Mila’s dad. She just said she couldn’t wait for everything to unravel…like maybe she’d already told him.”

My heart moved into my throat. “Mads…” He gave me a sad, wry grin, and I slid out of my chair and into his lap, hugging him. “Whoever it is, he’ll never be her dad. You’re her dad. End of story.”

He nodded, resting his chin on my collarbone, forehead tipping into my cheek.

“Should I try Trap again?” I offered.