Page 108 of ICED
“Fair. Though if I die via muffin overdose, it’ll be your fault.”
“Go have a shower,” she says, patting my chest. “We’re baking again in an hour. Your protein bars for the team.”
“You’re actually helping me with those?”
“Yep. Lila insists on decorating them.”
“With glitter,” Lila says confidently.
I groan. “The guys are gonna kill me.”
True to her word, an hour later the kitchen is a scene of controlled chaos.
Oats, peanut butter, protein powder, seeds, and chopped dates cover every surface. Maya’s got her hair tied up and anapron that saysBake It ‘Til You Make It. Lila’s wearing a pair of fairy wings and keeps trying to sneak sprinkles into the mixing bowl.
“Not the glitter again, Jellybean,” I say, dodging a handful of star-shaped confetti.
“But it’s magic!”
“They’re going to think I joined a wizard cult.”
Maya snorts. “They’d believe it. You already have the hair.”
I roll my eyes but keep stirring, muscles aching from practice. There’s something oddly soothing about this, being here, baking with them, laughing over granola carnage and peanut butter mishaps. It’s domestic and ridiculous and perfect.
By the time we’re done, we’ve got two dozen neatly wrapped bars, half of which are decorated with childlike doodles in icing pens.
“These are for your friends, Diesel, Murph and Ollie,” Lila tells me solemnly. “But not the angry man who yells. He doesn’t get one.”
“Jonno?”
“Yeah. He scares my biscuits.”
I grin. “Mine too.”
Later that night, when Lila’s asleep and Maya’s curled against me on the sofa, I wrap an arm around her and press a kiss to her temple.
“You sure you’re up for this weekend? Long trip. Hotel chaos.”
She nods without hesitation. “I want to come. Lila’s excited too. She’s packed.”
“Already?”
“Three books, four stuffed animals, a tiara, and the skates you got her from the rink.”
I laugh softly. “That makes sense.”
Maya lifts her head, eyes soft. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“This. Us. The way it’s all fitting together.”
I think about practice, about Ollie’s concern, about the burning in my legs and the exhaustion in my bones. Then I look at her, at the calm in her face, the steady heartbeat under my palm, and I nod.
“Yeah. It’s really fucking good.”
And I’m going to fight like hell to keep it that way.
