Page 129 of The Puck Stops Here

‘And what do?—’

‘Telling tales, bro?’

Astrid coloured as Blake returned to take up more of the dishes, and Aiden shot to his feet to help. She followed suit, hoping he wouldn’t call her out on it. And it gave her something to do that wasn’t listening to the nervous flutter in her tummy.

‘Would I dare?’ Aiden said, using the same response he’d thrown at his mum and catching Astrid’s eye with a smirk.

Oh, the guy was a tease. An absolute tease. He deserved to be florescent!

They all piled into the kitchen and Blake loaded the dishwasher while Aiden scooped coffee into a cafetière.

The kitchen was a homely delight. Cream walls, warm wood, the scent of vanilla and apple on the air. A colourful array of flowers sat in the window, where she got a glimpse of the small backyard beyond, lovingly tended. Much like the cork board against one wall which housed various pictures of the boys and a dozen press articles. Forever the proud mum and homemaker…

‘Could you pass me the jug for the custard, Astrid?’ Cynthia asked, gesturing to a floral ceramic boat on the wooden sideboard.

She carried it over, her eyes drifting back to the board. ‘You must be so proud of them.’

Cynthia followed her gaze. ‘There isn’t a board big enough to house everything they’ve achieved over the years, so I have to be very particular about what I pin up.’

‘Bet my thumb sucking isn’t on there,’ Blake grumbled to much laughter.

‘You just want people to believe you’re a great big tough guy,’ his mother said as she poured the custard into the boat. ‘When really, you’re as soft as you were back then. The shell is hard but the inside… the inside is as sweet and loving as ever, you just need to be given a chance to show it… Right, we’re good to eat.’

Whether she knew it or not, her words had changed the dynamic of the room. Or at least, they’d changed where Astrid’s head was at.

Because it was exactly how she felt about Blake. And though she’d told him it before, the desire to tell him again and have him hear it, to have him see it and accept it and know it didn’t make him weak…

‘I’ll take the pie through,’ Cynthia said, donning her oven mitts.

‘And I’ll take the bowls,’ Aiden said, pulling them out of the sideboard.

Blake didn’t speak. Probably because he was feeling his mother’s words and wondering how it had gone from thumb sucking to something so deep.

‘You okay to bring the custard, Astrid?’ Cynthia asked as she followed Aiden out.

‘Of course,’ she said, forcing a smile.

‘And bring the coffee, bro!’ Aiden called back.

Blake closed the dishwasher and raked a hand through his unruly hair, looking ever more the foppish boy than the hard-ass man.

‘You okay?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, I’m good.’

‘She’s right you know, your mum…’

He plucked the mugs off the side and reached for the coffee. ‘So you’ve said before.’

‘She got one thing wrong though.’

He paused, his brow furrowing. ‘She did?’

‘When you look close enough’ – she stepped towards him – ‘you realise the outside is just as soft too.’

His head flicked up, his eyes showing the full roll of his emotions. Surprise. Confusion. A flash of vulnerability before leaping to the safest of all – amusement. ‘Let’s be clear, we’re not talking about my body per se, right? Because these muscles…’

He was teasing but she was in no mood to bite.

---