After we start the oven, Beckett makes Clint help him clean up dinner, insisting that I go sit down.
When the oven chimes that it’s preheated, I start to rise but Clint calls out that he’ll put the pan in.
He’d been skeptical when I showed him the pan ready to bake resting in the fridge, but I’m confident I’ll win him over. It’s a trick I learned from Maddie after all, and she’s a whizz in the kitchen.
While they bake, Clint tells me about the time he was making cupcakes with his grandma and they set the oven on fire. Beckett clarifies that his mom had forgotten to set a timer, and that it was just really smoky, but Clint ignores him, going back into elaborate details.
Thankfully we don’t set my oven on fire, and a few minutes later we are loaded up with bowls of ice cream and warm chocolate brownies, and headed into the living room.
Clint claims one of the overstuffed reading chairs, and I’m silently grateful he didn’t sit on the couch with us. Nothing untoward actually got on the couch, but it just feels wrong to have anyone other than Beckett or I near the now infamous arm rest.
I let Clint pick what we watch, and he lands on some animated superhero movie. I’m not familiar, but then again, I’m not really paying attention. I give up on my dessert after a few minutes, hitting my limit, and Beckett gladly finishes what I have left in a matter of bites.
Setting our bowls on the coffee table, Beckett leans back, pulling me into his side. His warmth and strength becoming my new version of a security blanket.
He’s shown me so many sides of himself. The survivalist and teacher. The carpenter and uncle. The dirty, dirty man capable of bringing me to a level of bliss I wasn’t even aware of and the laid back guy who wants to eat ice cream and cuddle on the couch.
He’s so easy to be around. And equally easy to love.
Laying my head on his chest, his arm tightens around my shoulders, and feeling safer than I’ve ever felt before, I let my eyes drift close.