Maybe that was a part of his plan. We’re a lot like him. We don’t share, especially when it comes to women. We stake our claim, stand our ground, and defend what we feel is ours, even from family.
Tilly pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, biting down with her teeth. Fuck. Her eyes sparkle as they travel up my body, looking hungry. “Hey,” she says softly.
“Hey, yourself.” Butterflies the likes of which I haven’t felt in years fill my insides.
“Lame,” Lucio whispers from across the bar, and I flip him off behind my back so only he can see.
But he’s right. I am lame. I’m like an awkward teenager, suddenly unsure and timid.
Tilly thrusts the open pink box in my direction. “I made these for Tate.”
I glance down at the dozen or so perfect little pink-frosted cupcakes covered in multicolored glitter.
“They’re my mermaid special. I created them just for her.”
I’m a little speechless at the thoughtfulness and time she took in creating what I’m sure is no doubt the most delicious thing I’ll ever eat. “You shouldn’t have.” I peer up, meeting her gaze.
“It was no trouble. I just whipped up a little something.”
I like that she understates everything.
“Want me to get Tate?” Pop asks.
“Sure,” I say, unable to take my eyes off the woman standing in front of me.
I barely notice him walk away or the sound of his footsteps on the stairs leading up to their place. I’m too transfixed by Tilly. We’re staring at each other, not saying a word, but there’s nothing awkward about the lack of talking.
I want to touch her, but I don’t. I already know she could very well be dangerous to my heart, and I haven’t even laid a hand on her. I’m pretty sure one touch or taste would be all I’d need to be a goner forever.
“Tilly,” Tate screeches as she runs down the stairs and straight toward Tilly and the box of cupcakes.
“Hey, princess.” Tilly crouches down to Tate’s level.
Tate’s eyes widen. “They’re so pretty.”
“I made them just for you.” Tilly lifts the box closer to Tate’s face. “They’re my Tate’s Mermaid Special.”
Tate’s mouth drops open. “They’re all mine?”
“You have to share with your brother,” I tell her because she’d lord those over Brax’s head until the little guy cried. The last thing I want is a sugar-high daughter and a whiny little boy all evening.
She lifts her finger high in the air, not bothering to look at me because she’s too taken with all the goodness in front of her. “He can have one. Only one,” she tells me.
I glance upward, not sure if I should laugh or dread the bossy little thing she’s become. “You can’t eat them all.”
“They’re mine. Tilly said so.” Tate scrunches up her face.
This girl is seriously going to be the death of me. I already know, as she gets older, her attitude’s only going to get worse. Everyone keeps telling me to enjoy her now because all hell’s going to break loose as soon as she hits puberty. I’m dreading those years.
Tilly peers up at me and mouths, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I tell her and crouch down with them.
“I thought she deserved a treat after she was so kind to me yesterday.”
“Tilly,” my mother says, coming down the stairs with Brax at her side. “It’s so wonderful to see you again, my dear.”
“Hi, Betty,” Tilly replies.
