Page 95 of Hey, Stepbro

"Love?" Brock looks at me, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "You're such a hopeless romantic."

"Hey, it works, doesn't it?" I retort playfully, taking another bite of my own creation. "The secret is actually a handful of blueberries."

"Get in my belly," Brock grunts, channeling Fat Bastard fromAustin Powers.

Our dads, who have been observing our banter with fond smiles, suddenly clasp hands across the table. "You two remind us of when we were young," my dad says, a nostalgic gleam in his eyes.

"Definitely," Brock's dad agrees, giving my dad's hand a gentle squeeze. "It's wonderful to see you both so happy together."

When my cheeks burn, this time it's not from embarrassment. It's from the pure, unadulterated joy of being part of this accepting, loving family.

A little voice in my head reminds me that not everyone has what we have, and I silently promise myself to never take it for granted.

"Thanks, Dads." I reach out to clasp Brock's hand under the table.

As our fingers intertwine, I shoot him a quick glance, trying to convey how much he means to me without words.

He seems to understand, because his grip tightens, and he gives me a soft, affectionate smile before turning his attention back to the pancakes.

We continue eating, our hands remaining connected, and I marvel at the beautiful simplicity of this moment. It's breakfast with our family, but it’s also so much more—like a promise of a future filled with love and happiness.

"Hey," Brock whispers, leaning over to press a quick, chaste kiss to my cheek. "I love you."

"Love you too." I savor both the taste of the pancakes and his sugary sweet words.

I decide to take things a step further. "Here, let me feed you," I say playfully, picking up a forkful of pancakes.

Brock chuckles, opening his mouth to accept the offering. "Mmm, so good."

I tickle him, and he groans as he punches my shoulder.

Then, Brock spots the whipped cream canister on the counter and his grin turns mischievous. Before I know what's happening, he's grabbed it and aimed the nozzle directly at my face.

"Whoa!" I exclaim, though my tone is more teasing than alarmed. I should have known better than to let him near anything that could be used as a weapon of culinary chaos.

"Open wide," Brock commands, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

With a sigh, I comply, knowing full well that this will only end in laughter—and possibly a mess.

The instant my mouth is open, Brock presses the nozzle and a cold, creamy stream of whipped cream fills my mouth. My eyes widen in surprise at the sudden onslaught, but I make an attempt to swallow it down.

"Caught you off guard, didn't I?" Brock wipes a stray dollop of cream from the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

"Maybe a little." I’m still trying to catch my breath as the coolness of the whipped cream dissipates on my tongue. "But I'll get you back for that."

"Promise?"

Feeling a shiver run down my spine, I manage to swallow the whipped cream and let out a breathless laugh. "You're insane," I tell Brock.

"Maybe, but you love it."

"Guilty as charged."

"Boys, we’ll take care of the dishes. You two enjoy your breakfast," our dads announce, chuckling at our antics before leaving the kitchen. Even they’re getting annoyed with us.

"Thanks, Dads," we call after them in unison.

The second they’re gone, there's a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Electricity crackles between us.

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