That’s who Maisie is.
And she’s given me pieces of herself, not expecting anything in return. Not a single damn thing.
That’s the reason the words tumble out of my mouth before I give myself a chance to push them orheraway.
“I spent the majority of my childhood in foster care.”
I watch her eyes soften, melting for me. Not with pity, I don’t think. I don’t know. Something maybe even worse. Something I refuse to even acknowledge.
“Your mom, she…”
I shake my head when she trails off, but I don’t elaborate. I can’t.
“I was in the group home until I aged out. That’s where I met Camila. She’s the only family I have. I haven’t been back since. It’s not a place that holds good memories for me, but I’m going to do it.” Even though the thought makes panic claw at my throat, my air restricted from my lungs. “For the kids.”
Maisie whispers thickly, “That’s very selfless of you, Wilder.”
I resist the urge to scoff at the sentiment. Instead, a hum vibrates in my throat, the only response I have to give.
And then I feel her soft hand sliding over the top of mine, threading our fingers together tightly.
The most quiet reassurance, like she knows that I’m ready to run and that any more words might be too much. Too hard.
Too far.
Doris returns a few quiet minutes later with the milkshake, sliding it across the table toward us.
My gaze settles on the glass in front of me, the same one from when I was a kid, and unease weighs heavily in my gut.
It’s just a fucking milkshake.
Chocolate in a goddamn glass.
But it’s a relic from the past I keep trying to bury. I didn’t expect it to affect me this way. A faraway memory that I never think of anymore, I guess, until it’s staring me in the face and demanding to be heard.
“Ugh, I love whipped cream. I could eat the entire bottle of it,” Maisie says as she leans forward and drags the tip of her yellow-painted finger through the massive dollop and then brings it to her mouth.
I focus on her. On watching her wrap her lips around her finger and groaning.
On the warmth of her body next to me.
She repeats the motion, but this time, she turns to me. “Want some?”
I’m shaking my head because I’m not even going to touch that thing, but then she grins, a mischievous sparkle shining in the depths of her eyes as she smears it all over my lips and chin, wherever she can manage on my face.
I freeze, my eyes widening when she lets out a sweet little giggle, one that I feel like it’s something physical and not just a sound.
It loosens my limbs, calming me, grounding me once again.
Maisie doesn’t reach for a napkin. No, she tilts her chin toward me and licks across my lips, gathering all of her mess onto her tongue.
Only then do I move, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her against me.
“That was dirty, Sunshine. My bad girl,” I murmur before dragging my mouth back and forth along her face. Her cheeks, her forehead. Her lips. Wherever the hell I can reach, making sure that she’s covered in whipped cream too.
She never stops giggling or fighting to push me away, and fuck, I’m smiling too now.
Somehow, I’ve got a smile so big on my face that my cheeks start to hurt.
