Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(61)

“What’s wrong with Drake?” he asked, stepping out of his truck.

“Nothing.” I waved it off.

He knew it was a lie, but he stayed quiet, leading the way to his house and closing the door when we were all inside.

“We’re adding on to the house.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t like having to haul him through the snow to get inside.” He bent and unbuckled Drake, lifting him out. Only when he was in Knox’s arms did the crying stop.

Of course he stopped crying. He was with his second-favorite person.

I was a reluctant third.

“Memphis.”

“Knox.” I walked past him, taking the car seat and Drake’s daycare bag to the guest bedroom.

My solitude was short lived. Knox’s footsteps came into the room. “You walked out of that daycare on the verge of tears.”

“Yeah, well . . .” I set the bag down and pulled out the dirty bottles. Heaven forbid Jill actually rinse them out for me.

“That’s normal.”

“Why is that normal?”

“Because Jill, my daycare lady, loves Drake.” I threw up my hands. “She loves him. She spoils him. And any other mother would just be happy that her baby is loved and spoiled, but it hurts me. It hurts me that he’d rather stay with her than come home with me. And it hurts me that we don’t really have a home to come home to. This is your home. I have no home.

And my only family member is a little boy who—”

“Loves you.” Knox stepped forward and handed me Drake, squashing the rest of my rambling outburst. Then he wrapped his arms around us both. “He loves you. Because you’re a good mother.”

I looked at my son, who’d stopped crying and was busy fisting a handful of my hair. His brown eyes were so big and expressive. His face so tiny and perfect. “He is my entire world. I just wanted to be his.”

“You are, honey.”

I met Knox’s blue gaze. “Am I?”

“Would I lie to you?”

No. The frustration seeped from my bones. “What happened to me? I used to be so confident. Now I question everything. I doubt myself constantly. And I hate it.”

“Hey.” He pulled me close and I burrowed into his chest, dragging in his spicy scent. His arms and that smell had been the only reasons I’d slept this week. He’d held me every night, our limbs twined, our bodies naked, until I’d shut down the fears and uncertainty to rest.

“Why do you want me?” I whispered. “I’m a mess.”

“Come with me.” He let me go and clasped my hand, leading us to the kitchen. Then he dragged a stool out from the island and patted the seat. “Hold Drake.”

I took my son and propped him on a knee, bouncing him gently.

On the weekends, it was easier to put him down. To let him chill on his play mat. Weekdays, after he’d spent eight or nine hours in Jill’s arms, it was harder for me to let go. So I held him and we both watched Knox round the island and pull food from the fridge and pantry.

He opened a package of bacon and set it in a frying pan, the fat melting and popping as it splattered. He took out a container of flour, dumping a scoop directly onto the counter.

Then he made a well, cracking three eggs into the white powder before sprinkling it all with salt.

He worked the flour and eggs into a dough, his fingers messy as he kneaded it from a sticky mess to this perfect, smooth ball. Then he went to work with a knife, chopping the crispy bacon and then parsley before grating cheese.

He kept on working until he had filled two bowls with pasta carbonara, and when he set mine in front of me, he simply kissed my temple and handed me a fork.

Drake began to squirm halfway through dinner so I excused myself and escaped to the bathroom to give him a long bath. Then I sat with him on the guest bed and fed him his bottle. He fell asleep almost instantly.

Knox was exactly where I’d left him, seated at the island, scrolling through his phone. Surrounded by a mess. When he heard me, the phone was put aside. “He asleep?”

“Yeah.” I reached for my bowl but he took it from my hands, putting it exactly where it had been.

When he stood, his face was unreadable, his expression closed. “Did you like dinner?”

“It was amazing.” Everything he made was amazing.

“Good. Now look around.”

The kitchen was a disaster. He had grease splatters on his shirt, and flour dusted his jeans. The counters and stove would need a thorough scrubbing. The floors would need to be mopped and the dishwasher run.

“The craziest days in the kitchen end with food on every surface. Those are the days when I walk out the door so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open on the drive home.

Passion comes from the mess, Memphis.” He threaded his hands into my hair. “So does everything lasting.”

My frame sagged. “You deserve—”

“You.”

“I was going to say better.”

“No. I deserve you. Because I want you. And damn it, I earned you. All the shit I went through. The hell you endured.

Who fucking cares if it’s messy?” He flicked a wrist around the room. “It’s exactly the way it should be.”

“But—”

“Goddamn it, Memphis. Stop arguing with me.” In a flash he picked me up and set me on the island. A fork went sailing, clattering to the floor. Then he stepped in between my legs, holding my gaze, our noses touching. “Let me make this clear.