Page 119 of Stolen Dreams

What?

I blink several times, confused. “Huh?”

“Cooking implement used to scoop and flip food,” he says, tone teasing as his brows lift. “Flipper. Turner. Inverter.” The corners of his mouth twitch as he fights a smile. “Often used for pancakes, burgers, fish, omelets.” Humor dances in his eyes as he bites his bottom lip.

The urge to laugh bubbles to the surface, but I resist long enough to tease him in return.

Brows scrunched, I purse my lips and stare at him with mock confusion. “Inverter?” I look up and to the left, pretending to think. “Like the box for my solar panels?”

His head jerks back as lines mar his forehead. “Uh, no.” He pinches my side and I squeal. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Fire Eyes.”

I playfully roll my eyes. “Sorry.” Lifting a hand, I wiggle my fingers next to my head. “All the kissing and stroking and teasing jumbled things up.” I bat my lashes. “The spatula is in thatdrawer.” Pointing across the kitchen, I add, “I think. Don’t cook much for myself.”

Ray drops a chaste kiss on my lips, pushes off the counter, and walks backward until he reaches the drawer. He opens it, looks down, then smiles as he digs out the barely used spatula. Pointing it at me, he says, “So what I’m hearing is you need more cooking… lessons.”

Heat hits my cheeks and I duck my chin. “Suppose I do.” I pick up the knife and get back to work on the fruit.

As Ray pours the last batch of pancakes into the pan, Tucker shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. He mutters, “Good morning,” then sidles up to Ray at the stove.

Tucker woke up twice in the night. The first time, in a cold sweat as he gasped to catch his breath. The second time, Ray had to wake him. Tucker twisted in the sheets and kept muttering that he wanted to go home. When Ray finally woke him, he was disoriented and asked what happened. More than an hour of snuggles and countless whispered assurances, Ray lulled him back to sleep.

Either Tucker doesn’t remember, or he forces himself to forget.

Ray asks me to get drinks while he assembles his famous pancake charcuterie board loaded with fruit, bacon, and a few other things he found in my cabinets. When he sets it in the middle of my small dining table, I gape at how he made something so simple look extravagant—especially with my limited kitchen supplies and ingredients. Thank goodness he brought a handful of things from his place.

“What would you like to do today?” Ray asks then shoves a loaded fork in his mouth.

Tucker says he wants to hang out with his friend from the skate park.

Ray’s lips flatten into a grimace for a split second and I’m glad Tucker’s too busy trying to spear a blueberry to notice. After a deep breath, Ray nods. “Sure, bud.”

He won’t admit it, but Ray will have Tucker in his sight the entire time. A habit for the foreseeable future. When school starts in a month, Ray will struggle. Tucker will, too, just not in the same way. But thankfully, I’ll be able to check in with Tucker’s teacher often and relay updates.

“Yes!” Tucker does a fist pump. “I miss Jordan.”

Ray ruffles Tucker’s hair. “I bet they miss you, too.”

A buzz interrupts us, and I glance toward the living room to see a new notification on my phone. Deciding whoever it is can wait, I load my fork with another bite and listen to Tucker’s skateboarding stories. He’s in the middle of telling me about the time he scraped the underside of his chin when my phone buzzes again.

“Sorry.” I wince, wipe my hands and mouth with a napkin, and retrieve my phone.

Anaana

Checking in. How are you? How are Tucker and Ray?

Bring them by for dinner on Sunday. I’d like to formally meet them.

It’s been days since I messaged my family and said I was out with Ray and Tucker. Respectful of my wishes, they didn’t pry. Help was offered without questions or opinions.

But now the dust has somewhat settled. And my family meeting Ray and Tucker is imminent.

“Everything okay?”

I glance up from my phone and am met with Ray’s curious, concerned gaze. I nod. “My mom’s checking in. Asked how we’re doing.”

Ray tilts his head and studies the lines of my face with more interest.

I nibble my bottom lip. “And she suggested I bring you to dinner on Sunday.”

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