She nods, and I lightly grip her biceps.
“You drove all the way here to bring us cookie dough,” she says quietly.
I give her arms a gentle squeeze. “Well, Phoebe really seemed to want to make cookies. It seemed like the thing to do.”
Her eyes lift to mine, her eyes a brilliant green against red-rimmed eyes. I’ve seen too much of this look in the last few days, and I wish I could switch it up for a happier version of Chloe.
“You went back to the store—I assume after you took care of your own items, gathered up all these goodies, and brought them here so that my daughter could bake cookies.”
“Well, yeah.”
She covers her face with her hands, and her shoulders shake slightly. I’m terrified I made her more upset, until laughter floats out between her fingers.
“Aiden Wheeler, you are something else.” Her hands drop to her sides as she peers back up at me.
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for us.”
“Ever?”
“Maybe not ever, but I can’t think of anything else close to this kind of gesture.” She laughs. “Youhaveto stay for dinner now. I absolutely cannot kick you out of here after this.”
“So you’re telling me the way to get close to you is through cookies?”
“You already know that answer.” She laughs again, harder this time.
I love that sound, and I realizethisis why I came here.
Not penance. Not nostalgia. Those are just smaller reasons beyond the bigger one. I want Phoebe to see this version of Chloe. The one who’s carefree and less worried about bills.
She tries to wave me away, misjudges proximity, and her hand lands on my chest. There’s something about her touch that always makes me feel grounded and safe. I wish I knew how to return that favor.
Maybe you do.
“Why are you really here, Aiden?” Her voice drops.
“Because sometimes we all need a little help. And ever since I walked into your studio, all I’ve wanted to do is help you, Chloe.” I swallow, not thrilled I’m being so honest. “Mom always said it takes a village to raise kids, and there’s a voice inside that keeps telling me that I need to be part of yours.”
“I always liked your mom,” she says quietly.
“She always liked you, too,” I reply, taking one step closer.
At this distance, Chloe smells a little like orange peel and cinnamon. Very Christmassy. The way it blends with the tomato sauce of her spaghetti and the warm chocolate of hot cocoa is an interesting mix. But I don’t hate it.
She’s like a magnet, pulling me toward her. I’m not a touchy person—I hate hugs, and Evelyn teases me mercilessly for it. But when I get around Chloe, that’s all I want to do. Run my fingers along her jaw, into her hair. I want to tuck her under my chin and hold her close, so she knows that no matter what happened between us before, I want to be her safe space now.
I didn’t even know I felt this way until this domestic moment in her kitchen, with the soft scrapes of branches on glass and the television coming from the other room. With the way she’s looking up at me, just like she used to.
Like it’s got a mind of its own, my hand settles gently under her chin, angling her face towards mine. One more step would really be all it takes to kiss her.
“Is it time to eat yet?” Phoebe squeals, bursting into the kitchen. “I’m about to starve to death in there!”
Chloe and I stumble apart.
Thankfully, Phoebe’s attention is snagged on the bags I brought in.
Chloe clears her throat. “Aiden brought cookies, bug. Isn’t that great?”
