I pocketed the compass and stood as Holden, Beckett, and their son, Hikaru, joined us in the kitchen.
“Nice to see you around these parts,” Beckett said, giving me a hug. He held me an extra second. “You okay?” he whispered.
I nodded somewhat jerkily, and he sent me an understanding look before I released him and got a hug from Holden. “I was on my way to run an errand and thought I’d stop by and chat about Mr. Paige.”
“Pops would be thrilled to know that people are still talking about him,” Holden cracked, his eyes going shiny.
“For sure,” Ren said, sending me a wink.
We made small talk for a few minutes after that, then parted on a final round of hugs.
“Call me if you need anything,” Beckett said.
I dipped my chin and left as quickly as I could without seeming to flee.
I wasn’t sure I was any better off for having learned the meaning of the code, but it felt good to share my feelings for Hendrix with someone who understood what it meant to love someone they couldn’t have.
“There you are!” Hendrix said, standing on the front porch of the cabin, wearing an apron… and covered in flour from head to toe.
Despite everything roiling inside me, I had to laugh. “What the hell happened here?”
“After the proper fucking you gave me last night, I decided that I needed to return the favor and make you breakfast. But then you weren’t here, and I wasn’t sure if I had scared you away.”
I didn’t know how to take that.Fuckingwas a pretty dismissive way to describe what had happened between us, and yet the uncertainty in his last sentence told me he was worried about my opinion of him. Pretty much the opposite of dismissive.
“How could you possibly scare me away?” I asked, climbing the steps to stand in front of him. I tugged on his apron. “Also, why bother with this if you’re going to get flour all over the rest of yourself?”
He quirked those troublesome lips, then wrapped his arms around me, transferring at least half of the flour to my outfit.
“Bastard.”
Figuring I was already a mess, I hugged him back. He laughed into my chest and lifted his face toward mine. Helpless to do anything but comply with his wordless request, I kissed him.
What an amazing and terrifying thing to do in the sunshine.
We kept at it until the smell of burnedsomethingfilled the air.
“Shit!” Hendrix shouted, racing inside. “I forgot to set a timer!”
He pulled out a tray of biscuits that somehow managed to be both undercooked in the middle and burned on the bottom.
“I suck at this.” Hendrix tossed the oven mitts on the counter in disgust.
“Was this your first time making biscuits?” I asked, badly hiding my amusement.
“Yes.” His pout was adorable.
“And you expected perfection right from the beginning?”
His answer came in the form of a scrunched-up nose, which was adorable when combined with the flour and eyeliner that showed off his mischevious blues.
“Sorry, Hen. That’s not how it works. First of all,” I said, examining the knob, “why is the oven set to five hundred degrees?”
“The recipe said three fifty, but I wanted these to be ready when you got here. I figured increasing the heat would reduce the time.”
I looked down at him and crossed my arms. “You’ve watched enough sitcoms to know that doesn’t work.”
He mirrored my pose, deepening his scowl.
