Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 128

The drive back to the lodge is quiet. Penny hums softly beside me, eyes trained on the passing trees, and I know she’s trying to smooth the edges of what just happened.

But I’m still mad.

Not because those guys tried to start a fight—hell, that’s practically routine by now. There’s always someone. At a bar. A gym. Some kid who just got too big for his ego. Or worse—actual enemies trying to kill me in the middle of nowhere. That’s part of the job. I’ve made peace with it.

What I haven’t made peace with is the rage that curled inside me like a fuse the second that bastard put his hand on Penny and pulled her away from me.

I thought of seven different ways to end him. Seven fast, clean, effective ways to incapacitate or kill—take your pick. My brain just does that, now. It’s not emotional. It’s tactical. But this time? It was emotional. I was upset because for the first time in years, the instinct wasn’t survival. It was her.

It was her little flinch. Her wide eyes. Her voice, trying to keep calm while asking me not to make it worse.

I would kill for her.

And I’ve never wanted to say that about anyone in my life.

By the time we pull into the gravel lot beside the lodge, I’ve gone too far into my own head. Penny unbuckles her seatbelt, looking around.

The lodge is still empty when we walk in.

Penny frowns. “Weird. Tyler said they’d be heading back.”

“Good.” I shut the door behind us. “I like the quiet.”

She peeks up at me through her lashes and smiles. “Me too.”

I follow her into the great room, past the fireplace and wide-planked floors. It’s warm in here. Still smells like cedar and pine and snow-damp wool. She hesitates in the doorway to the kitchen.

“I wanna bake something,” she says.

I stop walking. “You what?”

“Cookies. Or something sweet.” She steps inside. “For when everyone gets back. I feel like I haven’t helped with anything.”

“You? Baking?” I lean against the doorway, crossing my arms. “Is this a known skill of yours or a possible public safety hazard?”

She gasps, spins around. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I make killer cookies.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ask Mila.”

“I’d rather not.”

She narrows her eyes at me, but I can’t stop the small smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. She moves toward the cabinets like it’s already decided.

“Stay if you want,” she says with a shrug. “But I’m doing this.”

I don’t move.

Not because I want cookies.

But because her hoodie’s slipping off her shoulder and she hums when she finds the flour, and because I’m going fucking insane watching her live in the same space as me and not be mine.

So I stay.

She’s messy.

And fast.

And nothing like the orderly people I’m used to.

I hand her things when she asks. Measure when she forgets. Rinse a spoon she already used for cinnamon so it doesn’t ruin the whole bowl.

I watch her mix chocolate chips with both hands like she’s trying to bury treasure.

“This the part where the house explodes?” I murmur.

She throws a paper towel at me. “This is the part where I feed you cookies and you fall in love with me.”

It’s a joke.

Obviously.

But my body doesn’t register it like one.

It tightens. Hardens. Heat crawls up the back of my neck and down to my crotch.

She doesn’t notice. She’s humming again.

She gets flour on her hands and wipes it on her jeans.

When she turns to me to ask for the baking soda, I brush my hand down her cheek first.

Chocolate. Right on the corner of her mouth.

She stills. Lips parting slightly. Eyes locked on mine.

“I got it,” I say softly.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

My hand lingers half a second too long.

I drop it. Step back. Breathe.

She blinks like she’s just come back online. “Oh. Thanks.”

“You had a—yeah.”

The cookies hit the tray in uneven scoops. Too close together. Way too many chips in some. Barely any in others.

But she’s smiling, cheeks pink with kitchen heat and whatever this is between us.

She puts the tray in the oven. Sets the timer.

Then leans back against the counter, brushing her hands off on a towel. “That smell,” she says, eyes fluttering closed. “God, it smells like Christmas.”

I look at her. Really look.

Hair messy. Fingers smudged. Shirt sliding off her shoulder.

And it hits me in the chest.

We’re standing too close now. She doesn’t seem to notice. Or she does, and she doesn’t care.

I want to reach for her again. Just a small thing. Her wrist, maybe. Her jaw. I want to touch her neck where I saw that bruise, make sure it’s still not hurting. I want to know if she’d let me.

So far, she always has.

The oven beeps. She jumps a little.

She pulls the tray out carefully, and I grab a towel to help her lay it on the stovetop. The smell explodes—sugar, cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla.

She rips off a piece and blows on it, then pops it in her mouth. Her eyes close. She moans, just barely.

I nearly lose it.

She opens one eye and grins at me. “Told you.”

“Give me one.”

She breaks one in half and hands it over.

I eat it.

It’s good. Not perfect. A little raw in the middle. But the way she’s watching me, waiting for a verdict, smiling like this moment is something that matters?

It’s perfect.

“Not bad,” I say.

“Not bad?” she echoes, affronted. “That was basically divine.”

I reach across the counter. I swipe my thumb across her bottom lip, taking in how full and pink and beautiful it is. This time, slower. Deliberate.

"I still have chocolate?" She asks with a frown.

"No."

Because she doesn't. I just needed her.

I feel her breath catch.

She’s not pulling away either.

Fuck.

I force myself back.

We stand in silence.

The tray cools. Outside, I hear a car door slam.

Voices in the distance.

She doesn’t say anything. Just smiles a little. Tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

I look down at her hands, her fingers still dusted with flour.

“Wanna go again?” she asks.

“With the cookies?”

She nods.

I nod too. “Yeah. Sure.”

I’ll do whatever keeps me in this kitchen with her.

Whatever gives me a reason to stay in her orbit a little longer.

Because this—this warm, stupid, dangerous thing—it’s becoming the only kind of peace I know how to chase.