Until You (The Redemption, #1)(41)

And after two chews, he spits it out with a sputtering sound and an, “Oh God, that’s gross,” before wiping his mouth.

I wait for him to tell me it’s a joke, but by the look on his face, it most definitely is not. He takes a long drink of his brandy to wash the taste from his mouth and then grimaces from the burn.

“Salt.”

“What?” I ask, getting up to get him salt for some odd reason. “You need—”

“No. Salt. The girls distracted me. I think I mixed up the measurements for salt and sugar.” His eyes bug out of his head as he takes another sip.

Laughter bubbles up as I put the “G” cupcake back on the plate. “How can you mess that up?”

“Don’t ask,” he says and then proceeds to explain the food fight with the girls. How he cleaned up the disaster while they showered. Then got interrupted by a text that came in and lost track of what and where he was in the recipe.

I simply stare at him. He made me cupcakes. Well, tried to, anyway. But the thought was there. The intention was there. After the first batch was ruined, he didn’t have to make more. I would have never known the difference.

That, and he is seriously a cool dad. Never in a million years would my parents have allowed a food fight to take place. Then again, they were busy drinking themselves to death so they might not have noticed either way.

“What?” he asks when he notices me staring at him.

“This is becoming a theme here. Between the two of us. Bad food. Spitting it out. Laughing.” I shrug. “At least I know I don’t have to worry about gaining weight around you.”

“Funny. Laughing is never a bad thing, Tennyson.” His eyes hold mine, and I feel like there is so much more he’s trying to say with those words. I want to believe him, but I’m always afraid to hope.

“I know,” I say softly and fiddle with the cupcake wrapper. It’s easier to look there than at him. “Thank you for today. For earlier.” I put my hand on his forearm and squeeze.

There’s something about the simple touch that has us both jolting subtly with awareness. I open my mouth and close it, my lips remembering all too well what his kiss tasted the other night.

“There’s no need to thank me.”

“I haven’t had a panic attack like that in a long time.”

Silence fills the kitchen, and it’s only when I look up that he responds. He has a way of doing that so I know I’m heard.

“They’re brutal. When you’re in the middle of one, it’s like you’re underwater and desperate for air. And even when you get that first breath, you’re still terrified it’s going to be taken away.”

“You’ve had them?” I ask, surprised at how accurate his description of the feeling is.

He nods slowly, and it strikes me that this is the first person I’ve ever let see this part of me. The new me anyway. And it feels so damn good to share it with someone. To have someone understand me and empathize with me.

It sounds stupid, but it only serves to reinforce how very alone I’ve been.

“I have,” he murmurs as he studies me. “I’ve experienced a lot of things. More than most to be honest. As of late, more bad than good. I just hope that next time you have one, you’ll trust me to be there for you.”

The need to offer a better explanation for my reaction earlier lingers in my mind. While saying I had a panic attack is partially right, it’s far from the whole truth.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but end up blurting out something that has nothing to do with the topic. “Work.”

Damn nerves.

“Work?” He furrows his brow and chuckles. “What about it?”

“I don’t know.” I stand abruptly, needing to move, to walk, anything other than crawling into Crew’s lap and holding on.

I’m a strong person. I learned through this whole experience that I don’t need anyone. But I’ve also never met a man who wears his thoughts and heart on his sleeve as easily and as genuinely as Crew does.

And after today, after feeling so vulnerable, his sincerity over how I should trust him and let him be there for me gets to me.

It makes me want him that much more.

He tried to make me cupcakes.

He had his first parenting breather without his girls, and he chose to come and check on me.

Crew’s chair scrapes on the floor as he stands and follows me the short distance into the family room.

“What departments or squads or whatever you call it did you work in?” I reach down and pet Hani, who is staring at Crew like who is this man in my house?

“Cybercrime. Homicide. Sexual assault. Narcotics. A little bit of everything over the years.”

Narcotics.

Of course, he worked narcotics.

I’d like to pretend that Kaleo was based out of San Francisco so a cop from Chicago might have no clue who he was, but his trial was covered nationally. His collar was a huge feather in the DEA’s cap, and they wanted the US citizens to know it.

“What else about my work do you want to know?”

“Tell me about a memorable call.” I adjust the blinds and turn to face him. He’s taken a seat on the arm of the couch, a curious look on his face as he tries to read me.

Good luck with that one.

“That’s what you want to know? A memorable call?”