Page 172 of Things We Burn

There was no resentment in his tone. I knew Kane wished he had been there from the start, but he’d long since let go of any anger he had toward me about the whole pregnancy thing. Regardless, I still hadn’t let go of the guilt.

My fingers tore open the envelope, then I retrieved the stack of papers, bleary eyes scanning over them. “What is this?”

“It’s a purchase agreement,” he said. “I know people tend to do leases, but I like it here, like the thought of raisin’ ourdaughter here. And I believe that this is a forever kinda thing. Although if the location doesn’t work, we’ll either sell it or turn it into something else and find you something that does work.”

I blinked rapidly. “Work for what?”

“Your restaurant,” he replied as if it were obvious. As if I’d regularly spoken about opening a restaurant as opposed to the few offhand comments I made before Mabel, therefore, another lifetime ago.

“My restaurant?” I repeated.

“Yes, Chef.” His eyes danced with joy.

I looked from the papers to Kane then back down again, focusing on the address. It took a second to compute, but if I wasn’t mistaken, it was an old boathouse on the wharf that I’d always looked at dreamily.

“Needs some work,” Kane shrugged, as if he were reading my mind. “Rowan and Kip start Monday, if you agree, that is. Also got an architect on standby so you can tell them what you want, and they can make it happen.”

Palm over my mouth, I tried to process everything that Kane was saying.

“Did I fuck up?” His easy grin had dimmed. “The location not fancy enough? I just saw it when we were out walkin’ with Mabel, and I felt like it was you. But—”

I held my hand up to silence him. It was shaking. “It’s perfect,” I whispered.

“I know you’re not the kind of woman who likes to let go of control.” He put his hands on my hips. “And me takin’ charge and makin’ a big decision like this for you could be considered as a toxic male move. But you’re the boss here, Chef. I’ll willingly submit to you, stay at home and take care of our daughter, while you go and bring home the bacon.”

He winked.

I struggled to stand under the weight of everything he was saying, everything he was giving me.

“You’ll give up your career?” I clarified.

“Already done.”

I stared at him. He was serious. “But that’s your life. You’re Kane ‘The Devil Rhodes.’”

He chuckled, brushing hair from my face. It was probably crusty or sticky with spit up.

“No.You’remy life,” he corrected. “She’smy life.” His eyes roamed to the bassinet, where there were no tiny legs flailing or hands scrambling for escape, no cries of ‘pick me up.’ I had a rogue thought to go check her breathing before Kane turned my attention back to him.

“My identity was never in the bullshit I did to keep the demons quiet,” he said. “It was how I thought I made myself a man after everything I went through. I’ve come to realize that how I make myself a man, the best man I can be, is by being a husband and father.”

The next day, we got a marriage license.

The day after that, we got married.

Then construction started on Tides, my restaurant.

It should’ve been the end.

Or more appropriately, it should’ve been the beginning of a whole new life. One that I finally felt I was getting the hang of. I was making my peace with the chaos that came with being a mother.

On one of Maisie’s many visits—she brought the kids and her husband who was goofy and doted on both her and the children—I’d been cooking while she and the kids entertained Mabel.

Mabel, who was now entertained, who giggled—giggled! Who cried still, since it was the only form of communication she had, but cried to communicate her needs rather than to scream at us like we were doing something wrong or the world was too loud or she was in discomfort or for whatever reason babies with colic cried.

The press left us alone for the most part. There was the odd reporter on Main Street when we went for walks or to get pastries, but Rowan scared any and all away from the bakery when they tried to enter.

And no one in the town had given an interview, shared any information, so they eventually scattered off for the next story.

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