Page 106 of Sweet Escape
“I was selfish. I want you here, Liv. In my home…” He pauses, indecision playing across his features. “And in my bed.”
Anger and frustration course through me, and I stand abruptly. “I won't be some toy for you to use and discard at will!”
He surges forward, trapping me between him and the island. “You misunderstand me. I want you in every way. As the mother of my child, and as my partner. I want you in my room because I want to sleep beside you every night. We can make your room into the nursery for Gracie, and when the kids are fast asleep, I’ll lay you down inourbed and show you just how much you mean to me.”
“Please don’t say things like that to placate me. I won’t take Gracie away from you if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He shakes his head and swipes a hand through his hair. “That never even crossed my mind for a single second.”
“It’s fine. I can move to the guest house, and you can still make up the nursery here. I’m ok with being friends. Just… don’t shut me out again.”
He palms my hip and pulls me against him. “I don’t want to be friends, Olivia Sullivan.”
“Whatdoyou want from me?” My voice is small, all the emotions I carefully tucked away spilling out of me at once.
He cups my jaw, his thumbs gliding reverently over my cheekbones to capture my tears.“Everything you’re willing to give.”
My heart gives an involuntary squeeze. It’s everything I’ve been dying to hear for months, but it’s not enough after what he put me through. My instincts tell me to lean into him, to take what he’s offering, but there’s a much larger part of me that’s afraid he’ll change his mind. I’ll be discarded all over again.
With a resigned sigh, I whisper, “It’s going to take some time for me to trust you won’t hurt me again.”
“But you’ll stay?”
“I’ll stay.”
The daisies keep showing up, but so does Wilder. Every day he asks me if I’ll move into his room, and every day I tell him I need more time.
On days when he isn’t up at the crack of dawn, he brings me breakfast in bed. On those other days,he leaves a mason jar of cold brew in the fridge with a sticky note directing me to my breakfast.
Sometimes it’s something simple like cereal or pastries. Other days, it’s overnight oats full of honey and chocolate chips. He knows I often struggle with decision paralysis, and he’s taken it upon himself to help with that.
He’s slowly chipping away at my resolve, one sweet gesture at a time, anticipating my needs before I even have to ask.
One particular morning, he finds me in the kitchen as I’m finishing my breakfast. He slides a manila envelope across the counter. “This is for you.”
The packet is unassuming, and I can’t discern anything without looking inside. I slide open the flap and pull out a small stack of papers. It takes a moment to register what I’m looking at. When it finally sinks in, my jaw drops, and I suck in a sharp breath.
The first few pages are everything I need to dissolve my previously registered LLC for the bakery that never came to fruition. The second stack of papers will register the same LLC in Kentucky. It’s the last few pages that hit me like a ton of bricks. There’s a purchase receipt for a vintage tagalong camper trailer, and a permit registration form for mobile food sales.
“It’s a blank slate,” he says. “You can do what you want with it. The paperwork just needs a name for the business and your signature.”
He must be waiting for me to respond, but I can’t speak. My throat feels tight, and my eyes are misty.
“I hope I didn’t overstep,” he says. “There’s no pressure. We can turn the camper into something else if you don’t like it.”
“Don’t like it?” My brows draw together, and I give him a watery smile. “I love it.”
“Yeah?”
I come around the counter and wrap my arms around his waist. It’s the most we’ve touched in weeks, and it feels so good.
He rests his cheek on my head and inhales. “You’re going to paint it pink, aren’t you?”
I laugh. “Maybe. Ok, definitely.”
“Still wanna call it Lick the Spoon?”
“Hell yeah, I do.”
