Page 46 of Wicked Little Nightmare

"So, Chef Axley, what's this supposed to be? A new form of torture?"

Cam leaned against the counter, his imposing frame somehow graceful amid the mess. "Now, now, darling. You know I save my best work for you."

I stabbed the maybe-pancake, bringing it to my mouth with exaggerated caution. To my surprise, it wasn't half bad. "Well, well. Looks like you might have a future in the culinary arts after all. You know, if the whole 'charming psychopath' thing doesn't work out."

He chuckled, low and dangerous. "Only the best for my girl. Speaking of which..."

Cam disappeared into the pantry, emerging with a small, slightly lopsided cake. A single candle flickered atop it, casting dancing shadows across his face. For a moment, I saw the boy I'd fallen for so many years ago — a vulnerable look spread over his face, disappearing just as quickly as I’d noticed it.

"Happy birthday, Lakey," he said softly, setting the cake on the table before standing behind me, massaging my shoulders.

My throat tightened. He’d made me a cake. So simple, so small, but it meant the world. I stared at the flame, memories of past birthdays flashing through my mind - some filled with pain, others with the savage joy of revenge. But none ever had a cake. Not until we’d moved in together and even then, all my cakes had been storebought. Never had anyone fucking make me a cake.

"Make a wish," Cam whispered, his breath hot against my ear.

I closed my eyes, wishing for the only things I'd ever truly wanted — for us to stay together, come hell or high water.

For us to… be happy.

For a baby.

I opened my eyes to find Cam grinning at me, a wicked glint in his dark gaze. Before I could react, he swiped his finger through the frosting and smeared it across my nose.

"Oh, it's on," I laughed, grabbing a fistful of cake and smashing it into his face.

Cam's eyes widened in mock outrage. "You'll pay for that, birthday girl," he growled playfully, scooping up more cake.

We descended into chaos, hurling frosting and cake crumbs at each other like deranged children. I ducked as a glob of icing flew past my head, splattering against the fridge. The kitchen became our battlefield.

This was the best part about being an adult. Not only could I eat fucking cake for breakfast, but I could have a food fight and not a single motherfucker could tell me I couldn’t.

"Surrender!" I cackled, cornering Cam against the counter with a particularly large chunk of cake.

He raised his hands in defeat, but I saw the mischief in his eyes too late. In one fluid motion, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me close, smearing the cake across both our faces as he kissed me. I tasted sugar and blood – he must have cut his lip in our frenzy.

As we broke apart, breathless and laughing, I caught a glimpse of us in the microwave's reflective surface. Covered in cake and grinning like maniacs, we looked like the world's most deranged birthday clowns. It was perfect.

"Well," Cam said, surveying the disaster zone that was once our kitchen, "I think we might have overdone it a bit."

I snorted, wiping frosting from my eye. "You think? This place looks like a bakery exploded."

We locked eyes for a moment, and I felt that familiar spark of connection. Without a word, we fell into our usual rhythm, working side by side to clean up the mess we'd made.

As I scrubbed frosting off the cabinets, I giggled. From murderous demons to domestic gods, we really could do it all. "You missed a spot," I teased, flicking some soapy water at Cam.

He rolled his eyes, but I saw the smile he tried to hide. "I’m surprised you noticed, Miss Leave The Crime Scene A Mess."

I laughed. How many murder scenes had we meticulously scrubbed clean together? More than I could count, though, usually Cam did the scrubbing because I was too heated to calm down. Once, I mixed bleach and rubbing alcohol because I thought it would clean faster, and I almost gassed us out.

He didn’t let me live that down for weeks.

"Hey," Cam said softly, pulling me from my thoughts. He cupped my face in his hands, his touch gentle as he tilted my head upward. "Happy birthday, Lakey."

I leaned into his touch, savoring the moment. "Thanks, baby. Breakfast was good." It wasn’t, but I didn’t need to say that. He did more for me than anyone ever had, and I loved that he tried.

As I wiped the last smear of frosting from the counter, Cam leaned against the fridge. The playful glint in his dark gaze hardened, and I felt a familiar rush of adrenaline. Our little birthday bubble had popped.

"Time to get back to business?" I asked, my voice dropping to a low purr.

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