Awk-Weird (Ice Knights, #2)(46)

Her stomach sank. Like mother, like daughter? Isn’t that what everyone would think when they found out?

“Look, I called because I wanted you to know you’re going to be grandparents, not for a lecture on responsibilities,” Cole went on. “I’m well aware of what those are and I’m taking care of it.”

He may not have called her and the baby an obligation, but that’s what her brain translated it to. They would be tolerated and dealt with, not loved. That was just the way her life seemed to work out. And now she wanted to slink back to her room and have a good cry. She was just beginning to backpedal down the hall when Cole strode out of the kitchen and into the hallway, the phone still pressed to his ear.

“I love you, too,” he said, his gaze going to her before dropping to the floor. “Talk to you later.”

He hung up, and they just stood there in the hall staring at each other with the entire situation filling the space between them like an overgrown thorny bush.

“They’re surprised, but they’ll turn around,” he said, shoving his fingers through his hair. “What did your parents say?”

“It’s just my mom, and I haven’t talked to her in a year. We’re…” She paused—how in the hell did she even begin to explain it? “Well, it’s complicated.”

He just lifted an eyebrow. “I think it’s time for you to tell me about growing up. Don’t think I didn’t realize you were dodging.”

“It’s a shitty story,” she said, her chest already tightening.

“Okay, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

The truth was, though, that she did. For the first time, she wanted someone else to understand—correction, not someone but Cole. She wanted Cole to know.

She’d meant to spill her story slowly, but it was like the whole factoid-spewing thing, except this time it was about her life instead of the minutiae of coffee-bean farming. Out came her entire sordid growing-up history about being shuffled from relative’s house to relative’s house until her mom got bored with her current obsession (new boyfriend, yoga, underwater basket weaving, whatever) and came home to claim her temporarily before the whole cycle started again a few months later.

“It would always begin with me saying something that came out wrong or asking a question I shouldn’t—like if this time the guy was going to stick around or if it was wrong to make me go tell the cop at the front door that my mom’s latest boyfriend wasn’t home even though he was hiding in the hall closet.”

That’s when all the factoid stuff had started. It was safer to spew random trivia or just keep her mouth shut. Usually it meant a longer time between involuntary visits to the extended family.

“I learned it was best not to say anything of importance, period.”

Everything she usually kept under a mountain of it’s-not-really-a-big-deal denial that she’d never really told to Lucy, Gina, and Fallon—at least not in detail—came pouring out of her. She told him everything while moving back and forth across his neutrals-only hallway, and by the time she was done and there weren’t any words left, she was wrung out like a wet dishrag.

“Your mom and your family are idiots not to realize how lucky they were to have you in their lives.” He scooped up Kahn, who’d wandered out into the hall, and gave her a hard look. “You need bread.”

Of all the things he could have said at that moment, that was pretty much not even on the list of possibilities. “What?”

“It’s comforting, and I have whole-wheat flour and a great recipe.” He nuzzled the kitten he professed to dislike and turned toward the kitchen. “Come on. You relax and I’ll bake for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, panic starting to bubble up inside her again. “I don’t want to put you out.”

He snorted—snorted—at her. “Have you realized how often you say stuff like that? Believe me, I’m well aware of what I have to do and don’t have to do. This is something I want to do for you.”

She didn’t know how to react to that, couldn’t quite process what it meant, so she went with it. And as she sat at the kitchen table with her peach herbal tea a few minutes later, Cole rolled up his sleeves—showing off those forearms of his that should be illegal—and started making bread.

He premeasured all the ingredients, cleaned off his already pristine counter, and went to work. She’d never considered baking erotic before and it may just have been the pregnancy hormones talking, but it was hot as hell. There was just something about seeing Cole work the dough with his hands, kneading it and shaping it, that had her clutching her mug tighter than necessary.

“You heard me talking to my parents,” he said before pushing the heel of his palm into the ball of dough.

“A little.” If she’d been Pinocchio, her nose would have been a mile long after those two words.

“You know how we moved around a lot when I was a kid?” He dropped the ball of dough into a bowl and covered it with a tea towel. “It sucked, but it was our life, and my parents tried to make it better by signing me up for the closest hockey league so I’d have that as a constant.”

He went about setting the timer, rinsing off the prep dishes, and putting them in the dishwasher. Each move was efficient and practiced, as if he’d done it a thousand times, which he probably had, considering he’d never consulted a recipe card or baking app while making the bread.