Page 40 of Sweet Twins For My Brother's Best Friend

“Okay,” she mutters, kissing me on my cheek. “Right after we talk about how someone’s embezzling from you and you won’t acknowledge it because of your deep-seated fear of betrayal.”

“Holy shit, you are cold, Handy Jackson.”

“Do not start,” she warns me, looking up with her eyes squinted into small slits.

“Awww, but now it’s accurate.”

“I should just let someone steal from you, then, do you know that?”

I hold her tightly. “You would never do that. Deep down, you’re entirely too sensitive for your own good, aren’t you?”

I kiss the top of her head, the warm sun in her hair and on my lips.

“Just in your arms,” she whispers, tucking her lips into my arm.

I hug her and cradle her head and think of all the things we need to say and confront.

Chapter Seventeen

Hannah

The cool air of the grocery store hits my face as we step inside, a stark contrast to the warm sun outside.

Chris grabs a shopping cart and playfully insists I hop in, but I roll my eyes and push past him to grab a basket instead.

“We're here to shop for breakfast, not to goof around,” I tell him and myself, even as my heart does a little skip every time he smiles at me. I can't keep the warmth from my voice, remembering the thoughtfulness behind his gift.

As we walk down the housewares aisle, I can't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of cooking together. It seems so domestic, so normal, and yet nothing about our relationship has been normal from the start.

We first choose a skillet and a small griddle, along with a spatula, a mixing bowl, and a measuring cup. Then we head toward the breakfast meats.

"What do you think? Sausage links or patties?” Chris asks, holding up two bags as if they’re trophies.

"I’m partial to patties," I decide, pointing.

"Good choice," he grins, tossing the box into the basket and steering us towards the dairy section for milk and eggs.

As we walk, I can't shake off the conversation we need to have about the embezzlement at his gym. It's been eating at me, the numbers not adding up, and now the uncertainty of who he can trust.

But looking at Chris, seeing the easy way he navigates through crowds, always with a protective eye on me, I feel a pang that I can’t protect him, too.

The walk back is quiet, each of us lost in our thoughts, Lucy trailing behind us on the leash to smell every single leaf, it seems.

She finds dirt deeply interesting. I make a pained expression for Chris’ benefit, but it’s clear he doesn’t mind, oohing and aahing over her found treasures as though he himself were a big puppy in a human’s body.

He keeps his hand wrapped around mine, warm and inviting, as though he’s been holding my hand all our lives.

Back at my place, we unpack the groceries and supplies in the small employee breakroom, and he kisses my cheek when he notices that I’m overwhelmed by the process. “Don’t worry,” he tells me, “I’m right here to help you.”

“I just don’t know where to start,” I tell him honestly, melting into his kiss.

His hands snake around me hips and I moan without thought. He smirks at my body’s response, kissing underneath my ear, and tells me, “Start at the beginning.”

Chris puts on a song on his phone, and a woman’s honey-thick voice wafts out of the speakers as he pulls out the ingredients in a row for me. He plugs in the cooktop and turns it to medium-heat.

He whirls around to me and wraps his strong arms around me, tucking his chin on my shoulder. “Okay, read the first step. You got this.”

I flip to the page we’re on – pancakes – and think to myself:and we’re off.

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