Page 35 of The Little Black Rose

“He…cooks for me. Helps me with the housework. Makes sure I have everything I need. Stuff like that.”

“All I heard was me, me, I, I. Not once did you mention the babies, because they aren’t here yet. Everything he does, he does it foryou, Ava.”

“Because I’m––”

“Stop,” she interrupts. “Let’s look at the facts, shall we? Zeke has been a closed-off shell of a man for years. The first time he’s alone with you, he lets down his guard, rips your clothes off and puts not one, buttwobabies in you. Then, he decides he has to move in––for the babies––and takes care of you. You said yourself he treats you like a queen. Does that sound like someone who doesn’t care? If you were nothing but a vessel for his children, he could still be an asshat while making sure you eat right, get the rest you need, et cetera. But he’s not. He’s showing you the real Zeke, and that’s gotta mean something.”

Could she be right?

“Listen, I have to go. I have a meeting with Waverly about her new book coming out next month, and she has a ton of prep work for me to get started on. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” I say, gritting my teeth at how forlorn the word sounds.

It’s not really in my nature to whine like this.Fucking hormones.

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

“I will,” I promise.

We end the call, and I sit for a long time, staring at the wall with unseeing eyes as I play her words over again and again in my head. Could she be right?

Could Zeke Beckett really feel something for me?

My eyes fall closed, and I plop down against the pillows with a groan. This is dangerous territory. If––and Idomean if––I’m really hoping for something between Zeke and me, I could very well end up with a shattered heart.

And despite such a heartbreak, I’d be stuck with him. Forever. There’d be no way to carve him out of my life now that we share children.

God. I’m so fucked.

Chapter17

Daddy Loves You

Zeke

Istep out into the waning sunlight, the scent of the sizzling steak wafting up my nose as I open the barbecue to flip the ribeyes I’ve been grilling for dinner. Ava will be home soon, and I’m trying to time dinner perfectly. The baked potatoes in the oven are nearly done, and the corn on the cob is tender and ready to be buttered and salted.

After flipping the steaks, I head back inside, closing the French doors behind me. Shutting off the oven, I slip on a mitt and pull the potatoes from its scorching interior. Slitting them open and squeezing them to loosen the flaky insides, I add salt, butter, and cheese, letting the latter two melt a bit before I dollop on some sour cream.

As I butter the corn, I hear the front door close.Shit. She’s early.

“Hey. Something smells good,” Ava says as she walks into the kitchen and sets her bag on the counter.

“The steaks are almost ready,” I reply, giving her a bright smile.

“Hmm,” she hums, inhaling deeply. “I could really get used to coming home to nice dinners like this.”

That’s the plan.

“Do I have time to go clean up?” she asks.

“Yes, of course,” I say. “This will all be ready in about ten minutes.”

“I can’t wait,” she says over her shoulder as she heads for the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “I’m famished.”

I finish with the corn, then head out to grab the steaks. They need to rest for a few minutes once I pull them off the grill, and that will give me time to finish the potatoes and plate everything up.

It’s a lot more work than I’m used to, cooking full meals for two people––well four, if you include the twins––but I don’t mind. It’s part of the deal I made when I moved in, and it also shows Ava how nice it is to havehelp.

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