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“ Y ou are going to change out of that outfit, right honey?”

I look down at what I am wearing: a smocked, long white dress with pretty pink peonies, a dress that I thought was appropriate for an occasion like my parents’ anniversary party. Evidently, I was wrong. “The only thing I am going to change is this chocolate-covered apron after I am done baking. But otherwise – no, Mother, this is what I am wearing.”

She has her classic look of disapproval and continues her usual critique of me. “You made chocolate and vanilla, right?” My mom steps behind me and peeks over my shoulder as I am trying to ice the third batch of cooled cupcakes.

What does it look like, Mom? “Yes, Mom. I got your order and I am fulfilling your order. Don’t you need to get dressed? Your guests should be here in like thirty minutes.” I just need her out of this kitchen or I am going to explode and I don’t want to do that today…not on her and my dad’s thirtieth wedding anniversary.

“I am just making sure, Brooke. Because I told my guests what we are having so people have expectations of what we are going to be serving them. That’s all.”

I stand upright and blow a tendril out of my face. “I said, I got it!” Okay, I snapped a little, but that was tame compared to what I really want to say to my mother. Back off and let me do my job. Let me show you what I am capable of. It’s always “that’s all” with her.

The oven timer beeps. Finally, the last batch for the party is done. I set down the piping bag and grab a couple pot holders. I turn off the incessant beeping and open the oven door.

Since Daphne Beckett can’t read a damn room, she continues, “Seriously, Brooke, when are you ever going to get your own bakery? You have been talking about this for years and I just feel like you haven’t progressed at all with your plan. I mean, look at Bradley, he started his own charity and that didn’t seem to take him that long to figure it out…”

That’s when I feel it. A searing pain on the inside of my wrist. “Ow! Dammit!”

“Brooke Beckett! Don’t you use that language in my house!”

“I burned my wrist, Mom!” The constant badgering from my mother caused me to lose focus and the potholder slipped and the oven burned the fuck out of my wrist. Tears well up in my eyes. I am too afraid to look at the damage the 350-degree-oven did to my skin.

“Mrs. Beckett, please start running the cold water.”

I suddenly feel a little more at ease hearing Tristan’s voice. He’s here. I’ve been anticipating seeing him all day, and the payoff is so sweet. Although, right now I wish I wasn’t in excruciating pain.

My mom turns on the sink while Tristan grabs the potholder I dropped and finishes taking out the cupcakes. “Are these the last of them?”

“Yes,” I say through my teeth.

Tristan closes the door, shuts the oven off and turns his attention to me.

“Run your wrist under the cold water.” Tristan’s tone is serious and I can tell he is concerned because his eyebrows do that cute thing where they pull together so intensely, there is a deep line that runs down the middle of them.

When I don’t listen right away, he quietly growls, grabs my wrist and puts it under the tap for me. It is the strangest sensation and I honestly don’t remember the last time I burned myself. It was probably in high school when I burned my neck with the curling iron. That was fun, explaining to people that I actually burned myself and it wasn’t a hickey.

My mom stands on the other side of the island and looks at us a little suspiciously. She has never seen Tristan and me actually stand next to each other without arguing like we want to kill each other.

“Do I need to hide the knives before I go upstairs to get ready?” Her eyes dart back and forth between us.

“Go on and get ready, Mrs. Beckett. Not that you really need to – you look great already.”

I roll my eyes. No matter how many times my mom has told him over the years to call her Daphne, he still insists on calling her Mrs. Beckett. It is a respect factor for him. He always has to throw his charm around like it is candy at a fricken parade.

“I think we can bypass trying to kill each other today,” Tristan adds.

“Okay,” my mom says warily. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

Tristan is still holding onto my wrist like I am a freaking four-year-old. “I got it, Tristan, you can let go. I’m not a child.”

He steps behind me and rests his chin on my shoulder. Goosebumps disperse across my body and my core tightens. “Will you just shut up and let me take care of you this time? Just keep your wrist underneath the cold water until I say to stop, Cupcake. I’ll go ask your mom where the first aid kit is.”

“You don’t have to.” I wince. “It’s in the hallway bathroom. In the medicine cabinet.” Dammit this hurts so bad. The cold water gives me some relief. Never in all my years of baking have I burned myself like this. If only I hadn’t been so distracted. Gosh, why does my mom always have to compare me and Bradley? We are different people and I am successful at my teaching career. Can’t she just be proud of me for that? Although she doesn’t outright say it, I know that she is disappointed in me not staying with Nick. He was stable and provided security for me, just like my dad did for my mom. But, there was no spark there. She doesn’t understand that I want more than what she wants in a relationship.

Tristan appears with the first aid kit. “You haven’t moved an inch.” Then he leans into me and whispers, “Good girl.” My breath hitches slightly. Tristan quickly places a soft kiss on my shoulder, causing shivers to run up and down my body. I look up at him and he winks at me. He knows what he is doing to me and it’s not fair. We aren’t alone, even though I desperately want to be.

I know the water is soothing my burn, but I am still terrified of looking at the damage. I start freaking out, tears leaking from my eyes.

“Just breathe, Cupcake. Everything is going to be okay.” He opens the first aid kit and pulls out some burn cream and has a Q-tip at the ready.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Do you think it will scar?”

“It might, but scars are sexy.” He swipes some icing off a cupcake and licks it off his finger, reminding me of the very first night we hooked up. He still has that same devious smile and hungry eyes.

“First of all, stop looking at me like that. And second, how long do I have to keep my arm under this water?”

“For the next fifteen minutes.”

“Are you serious? I don’t have fifteen minutes, Tristan. I have to finish icing all the cupcakes, then go freshen up so that my mother doesn’t say anything about my appearance. She already hates this dress that I am wearing for some goddamn reason. Just what she needs is for me to have my dirty apron still on while guests show up – or worse, that on some conspicuous part of my body, there is a drop of batter.” I place my available hand on my forehead and lean over the sink.

“Breathe, Brooke. That’s a lot going on in that head of yours. Look, I’ll help with the cupcakes. As I can recall, I’m decent at that – your words, not mine.”

I sigh. “You’re right. I did train you well.”

“As for that dress…” He wraps his arms around me, nuzzling his face into my neck. He’s distracting me from the pain and I am so grateful.

“Go on,” I say as the water continues to soothe my burning skin.

“Your mother’s fucking insane if she thinks anything is wrong with that dress. You look incredible and beautiful, as always.” He moves my hair and brushes his lips against my neck. He takes hold of my dress by my hips and presses me back against his hard body. This isn’t helping my already flustered state.

“Are you stealing kisses from me, Lawson?” I breathe out, trying to ground myself with the water on my skin. “My parents – or worse, Bradley – could walk in at any second.”

“Your mom is going to take at least another thirty minutes upstairs, your dad is outside getting the chairs and tables set up and Bradley is helping string more lights in the trees.” He licks my neck with the tip of his tongue. “Let me at least kiss my girl like this, since kissing on the lips is off-limits, apparently.”

“The only reason it’s off-limits is because if you do kiss me, I’m not going to want to stop. You are too damn good at it, Hot Shot.”

I hear a not-so-distant, “Hold on, I’ll get it Dad!” coming from outside the french doors that lead out to my parents’ backyard. Reluctantly, I elbow Tristan with my available, non-injured arm to move away from me. This is not the time for Bradley to find his best friend in the world planting kisses along his sister’s very exposed neck.

To be honest, I don’t know when is the right time to tell Bradley about me and Tristan. There may never be one.

Still, I’m not ready for everyone to know. Not that I am ashamed of our relationship. It will just change the dynamic of their friendship and even possibly my relationship with Bradley. No matter how flawed, he’s still my brother and I love him unconditionally.

Tristan realizes that Bradley is coming into the house and pretends like he is busy folding kitchen towels. Smooth, Hot Shot.

“Oh hey, Lawson! I didn’t realize you were already here! I need to grab a tool from the garage and the bluetooth speaker for the music tonight.” After Bradley walks over and shakes hands with Tristan, he directs his gaze to me and my arm under the sink. “Brooke, what the hell happened?”

“I’m fine. I got distracted and burned my wrist. It’s going to be fine.” I have to constantly say those words to believe them for myself. Bradley comes over and twists my arm so he can see my wrist.

“Jesus, what was distracting you?”

“Mom kept pressing me with questions about what I was making and the potholder slipped, but I’ll be okay.” I don’t have the capacity to talk through the real reason I am upset with our mom. Bradley will not understand because he is also part of the problem.

“Brooke.”

I glance over at Tristan as he looks at his watch and declares, “Time’s up.”

“Finally!” I turn off the water and open the drawer next to the sink to get a clean towel. “It doesn’t matter. I got it, Bradley. You better go get the stuff that Dad needs from the garage.”

“Okay, are you sure you’re good? That looks pretty bad, B.”

Now I am even more terrified to assess my own wrist. “Mmm hmmm,” I lie so he will leave me alone.

Bradley walks out of the kitchen. As soon as I hear the door to the garage click shut, I start to breathe heavily and tear up. I close my eyes tightly and say, “Tristan, can you please come over here and put that ointment and bandage on it? I can’t.”

I lean over the counter and stick out my arm so he can help me.

“Of course, Cupcake. But first, I need you to open your eyes. It’s not as bad as you think it is. Your imagination is worse than reality when it comes to these situations. Trust me.”

“Why do you know me so well?” I begrudgingly open one of my eyes to take a peek, causing Tristan to laugh. I catch a glimpse of my wrist and although it is disturbingly red, Tristan is right, it isn’t as bad as I imagined.

My arm relaxes and fully gives into Tristan’s hand, while his other hand gently applies the ointment with a Q-tip. I love seeing this side of Tristan–the gentle side. It contradicts everything he presents to the world on the ice. How can a guy who is so rough also be just as tender? He intrigues me in so many ways. My stomach flips at the thought that whatever is going on between us may just be the beginning, and I am going to learn so much more about him. There was so much that I didn’t allow myself to see when I wanted nothing to do with him.

I can finally take a deep breath. Tristan places the bandage over my wrist. Then, just when I thought I was on solid ground, he kisses the palm of my hand, causing my stomach to do a somersault. There’s that gentleness seeping through his hard exterior. It’s the same gentleness that shows up when he is teaching little kids on the ice or interacting with his fans. Although he is a beast on the ice, he is a softie in every other aspect of his life.

The access door to the garage opens again and we are no longer alone. Tristan lets go of my hand. I immediately want his hand back. I grab the piping bag and begin squeezing icing onto the top of a cupcake.

“Need any help, Cupcake?”

“Nope, got it,” I say coolly. I can’t risk Bradley knowing or suspecting anything. Luckily, Bradley is usually too stuck in his own little world to notice anything that isn’t blatantly obvious.

Back to being cold and indifferent to Tristan’s presence. Instead of hating Tristan, I am hating that I can’t be openly with him right now.

“All better now, B?” Bradley walks in with the supplies he needs. His eyes are glued to the bandage on my left wrist.

“Yup.” I continued to ice the cupcakes at record speed. “All good.” I put all my focus on the cupcakes because I know that if I look at Tristan, I will break. He looks extra handsome in his slacks and button-down shirt. He forgoed the backwards hat for today, but his thick, wavy delicious locks are slicked back, making me want to run my fingers through it and mess it all up. And then there are his sleeves, rolled up just enough to showcase his tatted-up forearms in all their glory.

He gets up from the bar stool and grabs the bluetooth speaker from my brother’s hands, totally avoiding eye contact with me as well. His jaw is clenched and there is a twinge of sadness in his demeanor. I want to fix that sadness and I think – I hope— he knows that. “Your dad has been waiting for a while, bro. We better go help finish setting everything before your mom comes downstairs.”

With that, the two of them exit the kitchen without a backward glance.

I know it’s just for show, but there’s a rock in my gut – how it seems like we hate each other still. It feels awful to have Tristan act like he hates me. Now that I know what it feels like when he doesn’t, I never want him to pretend to hate me again.

The party actually turns out to be pretty enjoyable. My parents had it catered by their favorite Tex-Mex restaurant and it is nice seeing old family friends and some of my aunts, uncles and cousins. Tristan and Bradley set up a large white screen that shows photos from the past thirty years of my parent’s marriage, including some incriminating photos of me and Bradley from when we were kids.

I am standing next to what is going to be the dessert table, nursing a mimosa while being completely embarrassed that my parents included photos of me playing dress up or worse – ones where I was in the bathtub naked. Why in the world would they include those photos? But in the midst of the humiliating photos are ones displaying years of affection and love. Love between my parents. Their love for me and my brother. My brother and I are a big part of the fabric of their marriage.

“You were kind of a chubby kid.” Tristan’s voice reverberates through my body. I glance over and see him leaning against the other side of the table, drinking his own mimosa. Dimples appear on the side of his perfect face.

“Fuck you, Hot Shot. I was a baby and babies are supposed to be chubby.” I finish off my glass and grab the pitcher to refill.

Tristan steps closer to me and brushes my elbow. “There’s my girl. I missed your feisty side, Cupcake. I kind of miss sparring with you.”

I raise my eyebrows and look up at him. He looks devastatingly handsome right now because the way he is looking at me is how all girls want to be looked at. “Are you saying you want me to go back to hating you?” I shrug and purse my lips. “Sounds easy enough.”

Tristan clears his throat and counters, “I want the complete opposite of that, Brooke. Surely you must know that.”

Before I can respond, my mom waves me over to where she is standing with my dad. I flash Tristan an apologetic look and walk over to where my parents are talking to their neighbors for the past thirty years, Bob and Karen.

“There you are, Brooke! Can I just say that your cupcakes are divine? I might have stolen one from the kitchen counter when I walked in. I will have to take some home and share them with the grandkids. Do you have your own storefront yet?” Karen asks.

Flushed by the embarrassment of the word yet , I open my mouth to answer, “Um, actually I…”

“Oh, no, she doesn’t have a storefront yet, Karen.” My mom exchanges what I can only consider to be a look of, I know right? She has been looking for years and still nothing . “I’ve been trying to tell her that she will never be able to afford anything in the area she wants without Bradley’s help, or even our help, and she just doesn’t listen to me. Who knows if it will become anything more than a small business she runs out of her apartment? She’s still just teaching right now.”

That’s right. Just teaching . I am standing right here. My heart drops and I tap my fingers against the glass. My pulse is throbbing and I might go into a full-blown panic attack. I am getting the same feeling I always got when I was a little girl, when I felt that my parents didn’t see me, when they would talk about me even if I was in the room. To them, I was invisible. I bite my bottom lip and try to focus on my breathing, to stop myself from causing a scene.

Then I can hear, “With all due respect, Mr. and Mrs. Beckett, Brooke is probably the hardest-working person I know.”

Tristan has somehow snuck up behind me. What is he doing?

“She may not have her storefront right now, but she is busting her ass, excuse my language, teaching during the day, unruly kindergarteners I might add, plus going home and running a business on the side and making it happen. Sure, making it as a pro athlete is a rarity but then again, so is your daughter. Fucking rare.”

My mouth drops open and I look at my mother’s eyes, which are wide with astonishment that Tristan is talking to her and my father like this. No filter. No regard for their feelings. In complete defense of me. Bob and Karen shift uncomfortably at this unorthodox confrontation of my parents.

He continues, “Her ambition is just as high as Bradley’s. Success looks different for everyone and you have two different children. I’m sorry, but I think you all are insane if you think that Brooke isn’t successful because she is, and you should be proud that she is your daughter.”

My pulse is in my ears now and my heart is beating hard against my chest. At this rate, I am half-expecting him to profess that we are sleeping together and they can’t do anything about it.

“Again, I apologize for the language. I have been around this family for a while and I just had to say something.”

My parents look shocked. All these years, Tristan has never given his opinion on anything family-related before–especially with regard to me.

Before my parents can respond, Bradley’s voice cuts in on the microphone, “Okay, well, I think it’s time that my parents come out to the dance floor and dance to their wedding song. They have also requested anyone who wants to share this moment with them to join them.”

My dad takes my mother’s hand and he practically drags her away. Bob and Karen follow suit and I am left standing next to a man who is supposed to still appear to be my enemy.

Tristan takes the mimosa from my hand and sets it on a nearby table. Without hesitation he grabs my hand, almost like we have been doing it for years. He starts pulling me toward where my parents, Brad and Jen, and other guests are dancing. “Come dance with me.”

My feet are glued to the ground as I shake my head. “What if people suspect something?” I look around to make sure that no one is deciphering what is actually going on between Tristan and me.

He steps toward me, still holding my hand, and places his other hand on my lower back. He pushes me forward and whispers, “We can’t control what people think, Brooke. Besides, everyone else is going to be preoccupied with their own dates or their own problems or thoughts, they won’t even pay attention to us. C’mon, Cupcake.”

We are finally on the outskirts of the dance floor. The sun is starting to set and my parent’s solar lights kick on around the backyard. The lanterns on the tables are becoming more illuminated with each passing second. Tristan twirls me around and pulls me in to where our bodies are almost touching. He smells amazing as always and there is a gravitational pull he has on me, where I want to get closer and closer every time I am near him. A couple of months ago, I wouldn’t be caught dead dancing with Tristan Lawson. Now, with the way he makes me feel, I want to dance with him forever.

I see Bradley and Jen out of the corner of my eye. “What about Bradley?” I finally look up at Tristan. He is already looking directly at me and has a lovestruck look on his face again. I wonder if I have that face too.

His hand that was initially properly placed in the middle of my back trails down to where he is practically touching my butt. I reach for his wrist and pull his hand back up, shaking my head. “Behave,” I mouth.

He begins to laugh and says, “I’ll deal with Bradley. I’ll just tell him that I felt bad for his little sister standing there all alone.”

“Gee, thanks.” I roll my eyes.

“What do you want me to tell him, the truth about us?”

I lock eyes with him and stare him down with my signature “don’t you dare” look.

“That’s what I thought,” he says smugly. His hand makes its way down my back, sending shivers up my spine. My body is craving this man more than I ever thought possible. “Just dance with me, Brooke. Stop worrying and just be here with me.”

I sigh. “I can’t. My brain doesn’t operate like that, Hot Shot. I am a perpetually anxious person. I am basically the inspiration for Pixar as they were developing the character of Anxiety in Inside Out 2 .”

Tristan snorts and pulls me closer. Now our bodies are fully glued to each other. I can’t shake the feeling that Bradley is giving us the death stare or people are looking over at us funny. But when my eyes dart around the dance floor, I hate to admit that Tristan was right. Everyone is in their own little world.

“Be in our world with me, Brooke. Let’s test the waters a little bit.” He starts to play with my hair swaying along the middle of my back. “You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now.”

Test the waters . “Just kiss me?” I bite my bottom lip, knowing that will drive Tristan crazy.

He raises an eyebrow. “Brooke Elizabeth Beckett. We are at your parents’ anniversary party.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to do more than kiss me?” I raise my own eyebrow to contest the one he just gave me.

Then Tristan does something that makes my heart flip and my knees buckle. He brings my hand he is clasping with his and holds it against his chest. I can feel his heart beating almost as fast as mine. It’s such a small, intimate gesture, but it’s melting me. I am a puddle and I don’t know how to piece myself together after this. Tristan has shattered every image I have conjured up in my head of him. He says softly, “You know I do, Brooke. And as much as I love how naughty my girl is right now, I am not ready to share what we have yet with anyone. I want to keep you all to myself for a little longer.”

The song is near its end and I step away from him. Because the truth is, even taking Bradley and my parents out of the equation, I want to keep him for myself too for a little bit longer. I joke to stop the tears of pure bliss from escaping me, “I guess that might be best, since my parents already want to knock you out for standing up to them. And using the words ‘ass’ and ‘fucking’ in front of their neighbors.”

Tristan laughs.

The song ends and I remember my mom wanted the desserts to come out after their second “first dance.” I nod back toward the house. “I need to get the desserts set up. Thanks for the dance and for saying what you said to my parents.”

My hand parts from his, but not without a little restraint on his end. “I’ll always stand up for you, Brooke. People should recognize how special you are.” His hand finally lets me go and finds its way into his pants pocket. “Like I said, you are fucking rare.”