The Pact (Winslow Brothers #2)(70)

“What’s a funnel cake?”

I blink three times. “I’m sorry, did you just ask me what a funnel cake is? As in, you’ve never had one?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never had a funnel cake?” I question again, and he shakes his head on a soft chuckle.

His eyes narrow, and I know him well enough now to know they’re saying, “How many times do I need to answer this question?”

“Holy shit, Flynn!” I exclaim. “We have to fix this ASAP!”

“But what about the pancakes you were going on about?”

I shrug. “We can grab some after.”

His health-conscious mind is shocked. I can see the question written all over him. “Pancakes after funnel cake?”

“It’s Saturday, Flynn. And we can do and eat whatever the hell we want on Saturdays because calories don’t count on the weekends.”

He laughs at that, and I take it upon myself to grab his hand and pull him toward a tent that has the words Funnel Cakes written across the front of it.

We only have to stand in line for a few minutes before we pay the kind man with the rotund belly ten bucks for two funnel cakes. And once the paper plates filled with the greasy dough and covered in powdered sugar are in our hands, Flynn looks at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind.

“You are going to eat that cake, and you are going to love it,” I state with an index finger toward him. “I don’t care that you’re Mr. I Like To Eat Healthy. Today, you’re going to cheat it the hell up and savor the greasy deliciousness of a funnel cake with me.”

I’ve watched the routine way in which Flynn almost never misses a workout at the gym and selectively chooses his meals and snacks. Basically, most of what he puts into his body is devoid of processing and is packed with the kinds of nutrients that would make my family physician back in Vancouver sob out of happiness.

And if he does go the processed food route? Well, you best believe the next few meals will be clean with a capital C.

Flynn just shakes his head, but I don’t miss the whisper of a smile on his lips.

Yeah, he’s going to eat this cake and like it. I don’t care if I have to pry his mouth open and shove in each bite. There is no human being alive who should snub their nose at a funnel cake.

“You know, babe,” he says and takes my free hand to guide us over to an empty bench. “When it comes to food, you’re kind of bossy.”

“Because food is important, Flynn,” I state and sit down in the empty spot beside him. “Everyone needs to eat. It is the foundation on which our bodies grow.”

He eyes me with a knowing look. “This funnel cake is the foundation of a heart attack.”

“If you eat too many. Everything in moderation.”

He laughs and surprises a squeal out of me by pulling me into his lap. His lips are near my ear, and he whispers, “You like having the last word. Love it, even.”

“What?” I press my nose against his and stare into his eyes. “No, I don’t.”

He smirks and steals a kiss. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Of course you don’t mind. You barely talk.”

He winks. “And you talk enough for the both of us.”

“Just shut up and try the funnel cake.” And with that, I tear off a piece of his funnel cake and all but shove it into his mouth. His surprised laughter blows powdered sugar into my face, which creates a domino effect of giggles.

“You like it?” I ask once I catch my breath, but more laughs leave my lips when I realize just how much powdered sugar has managed to get all over Flynn’s face.

“I love it. Greasy, sugary, full of fat. A true foundation of nutrients, like you said,” he responds cheekily and tears a piece of funnel cake from his plate. But he doesn’t put it to his lips. Nope. He takes a page from my book and rubs the cake across my cheek before pressing it against my lips.

“Here, babe. Have a bite.”

I snort. “What the hell?”

“Oh, that’s not how you eat funnel cakes? You don’t shove them in each other’s faces? I was just following your lead.”

“You’re such a smartass,” I retort, but yeah, I also take that bite because funnel cake. Everyone and their mother loves funnel cake.

And you really love funnel cake when you’re eating it with Flynn. Come to think of it, there’re starting to be a lot of things you really love with him…





Sunday, May 12th

Flynn

Daisy is a bed hog. Covers, sheets, comforter, pillows, she will steal it all. I know this because ever since she moved in with me, I wake up with my head flat on the mattress and my body completely bare of anything.

With a fresh cup of coffee in my hand, I step into the bedroom and note the ridiculous way that my wife is wrapped up in the comforter like a human burrito and how her tiny body manages to take up most of the king-sized mattress.

I smile at the scene as I step closer to the bed and take her in. Her wild curls fan out over the three pillows beneath her head, and her eyelashes flutter ever so slightly, as if she’s still sleeping but also still close to waking up.

This woman. She’s absurdly adorable.

The soft sounds of music from one of my favorite operas play through the Bluetooth speakers of my apartment, and I carefully sit on the bed beside Daisy. Coffee lifted closer to her face, I wait for her brain to make sense of the familiar scent.