Page 125 of Role Play
Forrest looks up, surprised. “How so?”
“You’re so present with her,” I explain, clearing my throat to carefully hide the unexpected emotion tightening me up. “Early memories of my dad are so few and far between. He was never available, even if he was physically around. But Dakota’s childhood album will be filled with moments like this—with you making her the center of your universe. I love that so much for her.”
Forrest’s expression softens, his eyes searching my face. “J.P. really missed out.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but the words seem to escape him.
“Oven’s preheated. Time to roll,” I say, sparing him from the deepening conversation. Too deep for sweets. We’re supposed to be having lighthearted fun right now.
He proceeds to dramatically pull items from the bags, holding each one up like a game show host presenting prizes. “See? Got ’em all. I think I deserve some kind of medal.”
“Your medal is getting to eat the cookies when they’re done,” I say primly, sorting through the ingredients with a satisfied nod.
Forrest steps closer, lowering his voice. “If I forgo the cookies, can I have a different kind of reward?” he asks, his breath warm against my ear, carrying the faint scent of mint.
The heat rises in my cheeks embarrassingly fast. I glance pointedly at Dakota, who’s now rummaging through one of the bags with singular focus. “Is there only one thing on your mind these days?” I whisper back.
Since we broke the seal at the haunted mansion, Forrest and I have been sexing like a pop hit on repeat. Nonstop. Every day. Anytime we’re alone, we’re naked. It’s never enough. We toggle between surprise shower quickies, christening every room of the brownstone while Dakota’s at school, and then slow, tender touches under the sheets after his daughter’s gone to bed. And now I truly understand the definition of “a lot of sex.”Twice a week?Ha! Seems laughable now.
“You like that it’s always on my mind,” he counters softly, letting his lips linger a moment too long on my neck.
“Hush, you,” I warn with mock sternness, stepping away before I do something ridiculous like kiss him right here in the kitchen with his daughter three feet away. “Dakota and I are busy making a very special treat tonight.”
Dakota bounces on her toes, clapping her small hands together. The sound reminds me of rain on a tin roof—light, steady, joyful. “Can I tell Daddy the surprise now?”
I nod fervently. “Have at it, sweetie.”
“We’re making kitchen sink cookies!” she announces proudly, her blue eyes wide with excitement. “Like the ones from Papa Beans.Surprise!I’ve never baked before but Sora’s going to show me how.”
Forrest slides me a teasing sideways glance. “Well, isn’t that the blind leading the blind?”
“Shut it. We’re doing just fine. And my cooking skills are greatly improving.”
“That they are,” Forrest says. “You cook Top Ramen in the microwave like a Michelin-star chef.”
“I’m choosing to ignore you now,” I snark at a chuckling Forrest before turning my attention back to Dakota. “Kitchen sink cookies are special,” I continue, helping her climb onto the step stool I’ve positioned at the counter. The wooden stool wobbles slightly, and I steady it with my hand instinctually. Parenting is a minefield of potential disasters I never had to navigate before. But I’m getting better at it. “They’re made up of little bits and pieces that represent different things. The base is always the same, but what makes them special is how you customize them to match your own personality.”
“That’s why we need all this stuff,” Dakota adds seriously, gesturing to the array of ingredients now scattered across the counter, her small hand sweeping through the air with impressive authority. “Because we all get to put in the things we like best! Our cookies are all going to be different, Daddy.”
“Why’s that?” Forrest asks with an uninterruptible focus on his daughter.
“Because Sora says…she told me that…” Dakota scrunches up her little face, trying to remember my cookie lesson from before. Lost for words, she looks at me for an assist.
“We talked about how these cookies are like people.” I scoot the bowl of cookie dough close to her. “The base is the same. We’re all made of the same stuff.” I gesture to the cornucopia of cookie fill-ins displayed across the kitchen island. “But it’s the little pieces we add to ourselves that make us beautifully unique. No two cookies ever come out exactly the same.”
He leans against the refrigerator door, his gaze peeling away from his daughter and landing on me. “Your cookie parables are surprisingly poetic.”
“What are par-y-bles?” Dakota asks half-heartedly. She’s licking her lips, gaze deadlocked on the bag of gummy worms.Me too, friend.This kid is my spirit animal.
“I’ll explain later, smarty-pants,” Forrest says. “Now, how can I help?”
I turn to Forrest and place a gentle hand on his arm, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirtsleeve before I give him a little nudge. “You,out. You did your job. Thank you for the groceries. Dakota and I’ve got this covered. We’re bonding.”
He lights up like Vegas at night, flashing me a smile that makes me think I just conquered my first marathon—so proud. So impressed. “Careful, cookie girl. Keep all this up and I’m never going to be able to let you go.”
“Who’s asking you to?” I give him a gentle push toward the living room. “Grab a beer, and go put your feet up. There’s a game on, I think.”
Forrest hesitates, glancing between Dakota and me with an unreadable expression. His eyes, the exact shade of a summer sky, search my face. “Are you sure all this is okay with you?” he asks quietly, his voice dropping so only I can hear.
I understand immediately what he’s asking. It’s the same question that’s been unspoken but palpable for weeks now, as persistent and inescapable as the scent of his cologne that clings to my pillowcases. The acknowledgment of what’s developing here—the tentative family unit we’re becoming, despite all our initial intentions.
