Willow rubbed a hand across her forehead. God, she was tired, and it was only eight thirty. The exhaustion was causing a light throb at the back of her eyes. She was almost done though. She could practically hear her bed calling for her from the other room. And boy, did she need sleep before Mila’s party tomorrow.
She spun the cake around on the turntable, a smile stretching her lips. She’d been working on it all day. Well, just about all day. While Mila had been at school, she’d baked the cake, and when Mila went to bed she’d started decorating. So just about every second she hadn’t been working, sleeping, or caring for her kid, she’d been on cake duty.
So worth it.
Olaf stared back at her, his smile as wide as his face. She’d made him out of white fondant, adding some food coloring for the orange carrot nose and black eyes and buttons.
“Yeah, you would be smiling,” she said quietly to the edible figurine. “You haven’t been on the go all day.”
She filled the piping bag with wet white icing. The final touch. She just needed to pipe it around the curved edge of the cake, making sure it dripped down the sides, and she’d be done.
She’d baked Mila’s birthday cakes every year since the kid was born. It had become somewhat of a tradition. And each year, she got better. No one had ever taught her how to bake or decorate a cake. Certainly not her mother. No, that woman barely taught her anything. In fact, her entire family had always been incredibly absent in her life. It was something she and Blake had in common. Something that had bound them closer together.
It was also why, when Mila had been born, they’d received no help. None. No one had popped over in the afternoon to give her a chance to shower or prep dinner or breathe. No one had shown her how to feed or diaper her baby. It had all been on her and Blake. But mostly her.
Another leading cause of PPD, according to her therapist.
Blake had definitely witnessed her struggle. Not all of it. She’d hidden what she could. But that last night before his final mission when she’d asked for his help…
She swallowed, pressing the piping bag to the edge of the cake and squeezing as she rotated the turntable.
She’d needed him, and he hadn’t been there for her. And right or wrong, she was scared to lean on him again. To need him, only to have him choose work over her—again. Everyone she’d ever cared about had shown her that relying on others was a risk that wasn’t worth taking. At the end of the day, the only person you could really rely on was yourself.
Once she’d done a full circle of the cake, she placed the piping bag on the island and inspected her work.
Finished. And it was beautiful.
Her heart gave a little kick as she pictured Mila’s reaction when she saw it. The kid was going to lose her mind.
Walking over to the fridge, she opened the door, shuffling a few things around to make room. Leaving the door open, she walked back to grab the cake. Carefully, Willow lifted it, walking slowly to the fridge.
She’d just about made it when she stepped on something hard. A sharp edge stabbed into her foot, causing her to lean back and lose her balance.
A small screech left her lips as she started to tumble. She tried to save the cake, she really did, but the thing slid from the plate, toppling right into her neck and chest as she hit the floor.
She barely felt the throb of her backside when it collided with the tiles, or the stretch of the muscles in her legs. Her entire focus remained on the icing that was now smeared all over her top. On the formerly round cake, which now resembled more of a wonky semi-circle.
For an entire minute, Willow sat there, breathing through her shock. Her frustration. Her exhaustion.
When tears pricked the back of her eyes, she scrunched them shut.
It’s just a cake, Willow. You can make another.
Yeah, a cake that she’d spent hours making. A cake her daughter was beyond excited about seeing tomorrow. A cake she had nowhere near the required energy or time to recreate tonight.
Her head hurt just thinking about it.
When her phone rang in her back pocket, she eased the squashed cake to the floor, grabbed for the phone, not even checking who it was. “Hello?”
There was a small pause. Then Blake’s deep, rumbly voice. “What’s wrong?”
If she’d had the energy, she would have laughed. Of course, he heard she wasn’t okay. “Nothing.” Definitely not something she should be on the verge of tears about. “What is it?”
“You’re lying, honey.”
Closing her eyes, she breathed through the ridiculous devastation. “It’s nothing. I just slipped and fell.”
A small pause. “Are you okay?”
No. She was ready for a twelve-hour sleep but instead, was about to start a brand-new cake. “I’m okay. The cake, on the other hand, is not.” She studied it. The thing had smushed so heavily against her chest, she already knew it was beyond fixing. She’d have to start again.
The idea had the pain in her head compounding.
Blake’s tone softened. “Mila’s birthday cake?”
“Yep. I’d just finished it…but now I’ll be making another.”
She sent a look of longing in the direction of her bedroom. Lord, how she craved to roll herself beneath the sheets. The thing was, if she did that, she knew that Mila would understand. The kid was amazing. It was Willow who wanted the cake to be done. Who wanted to see the joy on her daughter’s face on her fifth birthday.
Sighing, she pushed up to her feet, grabbing a towel from the counter and scrubbing at the icing. “I’m gonna go and get started on it.” And maybe drown her sorrows in a bottle of wine.
For the first time, she looked down to see what she’d stepped on. A small Olaf figurine. Oh, the irony.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
No. “I’m okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Blake stopped at Willow’s door, pulling out his phone and sending her a quick text.
Blake: Come to the door, honey.
He heard the faint sound of an egg cracking. Of the shell being tossed into the trash. Then the movement stopped, following by the light pitter-patter of her heartbeat as it sped up. He almost chuckled, just imagining her standing there, eyeing her phone, then the door.
Blake: Please. x
Another beat passed before her footsteps drew closer. Slow, light steps. Hesitant.
When the door pulled open, Willow stood on the other side. And even though it wasn’t the polished, put-together Willow he was used to, his breath still caught. His knees still felt weak.
The only woman able to weaken him.
Strands of brown hair fell into her face and against her neck. Streaks of icing slashed across her chest, and stains marred her top.
“What are you doing here?” Her chest rose and fell, slightly quicker than it should.
“I was wondering if I could stay over on your couch? Wake up here for Mila’s birthday.” That wasn’t the only reason he was here. But that was his soft ticket inside.
Willow’s green eyes softened. Her gaze skittering over to the couch before returning to him. She stepped back. “Sure.”
Blake entered, immediately bombarded by her sweet scent that he loved so much. This time, it was mixed with cake and icing. He stopped in front of her. Unable to help himself, he leaned in, brushing his lips across her cheek, tasting the sugar on her skin. When he straightened, his gaze caught on the dark circles under her eyes.
Like his hand had a mind of its own, it rose, his fingers grazing the darkened skin.
There was a slight hitch in her breathing. The softest heating of her eyes.
When his hand dropped, it felt like a kick to the gut. Any separation felt like a kick in the gut, no matter how small.
He was just closing the door when a car drove past. He paused, noticing the way it slowed just slightly before speeding up again.
Frowning, he was about to step outside when a light hand touched his shoulder.
“Blake, I’m going to get back to the cake.”
He kept his eyes on the road for another beat before closing the door and moving over to the couch to drop his bag.
When he looked up, Willow was already in the kitchen, lifting a whisk and plunging it into a bowl.
He stepped up beside her, taking the whisk from her fingers. “I’ll do it, darlin’.” Her susceptibility to migraines was always at the forefront of his mind. Even while he’d been imprisoned by Project Arma, worry that she’d work herself too hard and suffer migraines was always there.
When she didn’t fight him, his worry increased.
Moving across the island, she picked up something. “Olaf mostly survived.” She held up the tiny, slightly disfigured snowman. His orange nose was a bit squashed and his eyes wonky. “I can quickly fix him, so at least I don’t need to make him again. The little snowflakes and snowballs, on the other hand…”
“You get started on those, and I’ll continue the cake.”
Again, no argument, just a nod. Man, she really was tired. The woman knew he didn’t bake. Not well, at least.
“What was the theme of Mila’s cake last year?” he asked softly.
A small smile touched her lips. “CoComelon. She was obsessed with the show. I made a big JJ fondant figurine and she kept it in the fridge for a solid six months.” Willow chuckled. “We couldn’t even get in the car without playing songs from the show. I swear I sang the songs in my sleep.”
Blake smiled, the expression a bit raw. Because he hadn’t been there to help with the cake. Or watch the shows or sing the songs.
She flattened some fondant before reaching across the island for a knife. When her skin grazed his arm, there was a slight widening of her eyes before she snatched her arm back.
I feel it too, baby.
He didn’t need to say the words out loud. She knew. Since they were teenagers, they’d always been so affected by each other, they could barely think straight. Barely breathe. Some days he swore the woman made him drunk for her.
He watched as she carefully sliced the fondant into even squares.
“Will you tell me about some of the things I missed?” he asked quietly.
Two years. That was a long time in a child’s life. The milestones. The memories. The laughter and tears. All of it missed.
Willow wet her lips. “We started swimming lessons just before her third birthday. At first, she hated them. The teacher made her walk across this wobbly board and dunk her head under the surface.” Willow shook her head. “Each week I saw her confidence grow though, until eventually she was asking, begging, for me to take her to lessons, even on days we had none.”
“Reminds me of her mother,” Blake said. “Cautious until she realizes she has nothing to fear.”
For a moment, she paused. He probably shouldn’t have said that. He’d already been pushing the woman. But it was true. And what he wouldn’t do for her to just…trust. Trust in him. In them. That they could be better than they were before.
He lifted the bowl of wet ingredients and tipped it into the dry that Willow had already prepared, before whisking them together. “What else?”
“I took the training wheels off her bike. I was so nervous that she’d fall and hurt herself. But she was amazing. It was as if all she had to do was watch the other kids do it, and she was a pro. I remember thinking she got those gross motor skills from her father.”
He chuckled softly.
“And the day she started preschool…” Willow shook her head, and he almost swore he saw a glint of tears in her eyes. “It was so hard. Not for her. She was fine. When I hugged her at the classroom door, I didn’t want to let go. It felt like I was losing my baby. Whereas she was wriggling so hard to get out of my arms.”
Didn’t surprise him. The kid was still a social butterfly. Who she got that from, he had no idea.
He took his eyes off the mixture he was beating to look at Willow. When their eyes clashed, he saw the undeniable hint of unshed tears.
Her voice lowered. “She missed you. So much. No matter how much time passed, it never got easier.”
His gut clenched, his heart feeling like it was being torn in two. He’d missed her too. Both of them. So damn much. Some days, the pain had crippled him.
His next words were tentative. “Just her?”
A sharp inhale. A quickening of her pulse. “No. Not just her.”
Honesty. He liked it.
She looked down, quickly returning to slicing the fondant. He followed her gaze—just as the knife slipped.
He moved quickly, yanking her fingers out of the way before the sharp edge sliced into her.
Willow gasped. “That was…You’re so fast now.”
Yeah, he was different in a lot of ways. “I told you. I’m not the same man I was before I was taken.” Nowhere close, physically or emotionally.
“You’re not.”
His thumb grazed the skin of her wrist. Her heartbeat fluttered beneath his touch. “You’re tired. You should go to sleep. I can pop the cake in and take it out when it’s done. Then tomorrow morning, I can play with Mila while you quickly decorate it before the party.” The cake needed to cool before it could be decorated anyway. He didn’t know much about cakes, but he knew that.
Longing washed across her features. “Are you sure?”
So exhausted. “Go.”
“Thank you.” Her words were soft.
Man, he wanted to kiss her. To tug her into his arms and carry her to bed. But Willow needed to know she could trust him first. To be there for her. To support her. To carry her when she was weak.
He gave her wrist a gentle squeeze before releasing it. Then he watched her leave the room.
Once she was gone, he got started on coating the cake pan in butter. Luckily, the printed recipe sat on the island, so he knew how long it needed in the oven. Probably the only reason she’d left him out here.
Once it was in, he moved down the hall to Mila’s room, pushing open the door and watching his daughter sleep.
Her little chest rose and fell in long, deep breaths. Beautiful. So beautiful.
Two years of missed memories. Two years of missed firsts.
Never again. Never would he let anyone take him away from his family. And anyone who tried would wish they hadn’t.
