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I scrunch my face in question, not at all willing to test the word gods right now.

“Giving the gelato and sorbet time to soften. Good plan. Chocolate gelato and black berry sorbet sounds like a good combo, yeah?” He reaches up, smoothing the valley between my brows with his thumb. “I can’t wait to see what you choose for yourself.” He steps away then, disappearing deeper into the house.

I stand motionless, dumbstruck and frozen, waiting for him to come back. I wait for the angry words, for the scolding, the strike that always seemed to accompany my trauma, giving it form and shape. Substance.

But none of that comes.

Why can’t I just be a normal human being with normal reactions? And just be normal?

Normal would be dishing up our desserts. So, I take a step, and then another until I’m right there, scooping frozen treats into bowls like a regular, non-traumatized normal person.

Each scoop of chocolate and blackberry are perfectly symmetrical and fill the bowl, the spoon tucked carefully to the side. The other bowl holds a small taste of each of the sorbets.

I roll my lips between my teeth and glance at the hallway Teague disappeared down.

He should be back now, shouldn’t he?

I wait, counting to sixty and do it again. When I’ve completed a third round, I squeeze my hands into tight, tight fists and release them, and set about closing each of the containers and tucking them back into the freezer. See? Normal.

The door closes on a nearly silent whoosh and I jump, my heart stuttering to a momentary halt as the low rumbled words found me.

“That’s not nearly enough.”

I cringe, breaking as I apologize. “I-I’m sorry.” My hands shake as I open the freezer and reach for Teague’s flavors.

“Oh, hummingbird, no. I have plenty, but you need more. In fact…” His words stop as he reaches around me, plucking the remaining sorbet flavors from the shelf with one hand and tucking the gelato away with the other.

His free hand drops to my waist pulling me out of the way of the closing freezer door. My back pressed against his front. The tip of his thumb so close to the underside of my breast, only just barely not skimming it.

And it’s all so… natural. Normal.

Until it’s not. Until I pull in a sharp gasp, breaking the moment.

Fingers press into my belly, lips to the top of my head. “You’re okay, Truie. You’re perfectly safe.”

I want to believe him. I really do, but trust is so damn hard for me. So hard. I know I’ve come a long way in a really short amount of time and that I attribute to Teague. To his kind heart, his protective nature. His patience with me. Always so patient and understanding.

For fuck’s sake, he saw my scars. Didn’t freak out at the sight of them, or worse, add to them. No, instead, he gave me a freaking orgasm.

When I finally can, I nod, but Teague steps away from me. He fills my bowl with almost as much as his, tucks the containers away, and grabs our dishes, stepping around me to sit in front of the fire, on the floor with his feet extended toward the flames.

“Come join me.”

I do.

Teague devours his gelato while stealing a bite of my sorbet here and there, all the while talking. Soft words about nothing and everything. Lingering touches and small casual caresses. Always talking, filling the space that I can’t.

When our bowls are empty, Teague sets them both on the coffee table behind us.

His hand finds mine, and he holds it like a cherished treasure.

The fire has light dancing across his face, fighting with the shadows.

“I have a confession.” The way he says it is solemn, quiet. Almost reverent like he’s seeing absolution. “I knew the shop was closed. I brought you here on purpose.”

There it is—confirmation that this trip is not the innocent oops he tried to portray. “D-did you?”

“Ah, I did. I’ll not apologize though.” The slight lilt that is usually just part of his regular speech dips deeper, grows stronger. “I’ve told you you’re safe with me, always, and I’m not a liar.”