Chapter 21

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

Liv

I let out a groan as I survey the chaos I’ve created in the kitchenette. I took a little detour to a grocery store to buy some balloons and everything I needed to make cupcakes. Despite our agreement not to go anywhere alone anymore, it was broad daylight and the store was crowded, so I didn’t worry too much. Frank’s update about Liam still being locked away provided me with some sense of security, although my heart ached for Madeline. I always liked her. Yes, she could be entitled at times, but she also had a gentle side.

Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s already eight pm. I’m relieved that I’ve packed all my stuff already, but I know the cupcakes I’m attempting to make are going to end in a disaster, so I decide to reach out to Gunner.

Are you any good at baking?

Depends on what we’re baking…

Please come over? *pout emoji*

Not a minute later, there’s a knock on the door, and I rush to open it, relieved to see him standing there. Leaning with his forearm on the doorframe, he looks down at me. He’s dressed in black sweatpants and a tight black shirt, which perfectly complements my own attire of black sweatpants and our koi shirt.

“Hey, Casper,” Gunner greets me, flipping my nose. “You’ve got a little bit of flour on your face.” He chuckles, gently nudging me inside and closing the door behind him.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror on the back of the door and burst into laughter. My face is completely covered in white flour, creating quite the mess. Gunner laughs wholeheartedly upon seeing the state the kitchenette is in.

“Holy shit, what exploded?” he jokes.

I quickly make my way to the bathroom to clean my face. Returning to Gunner, I pout at him.

“I definitely need some help,” I admit, and he smirks.

“I gathered that,” he teases, moving to the sink to wash his hands. “So, what are we making?”

“Chase’s birthday is tomorrow, and I wanted to bake him some cupcakes. Since he likes coconut ice cream, I figured I couldn’t go wrong with vanilla cupcakes with coconut frosting,” I say, and Gunner chuckles.

“And you thought baking them instead of buying them would be a good idea because…?” He trails off teasingly.

“I genuinely thought baking couldn’t be that hard,” I admit, biting my lip.

He laughs again. “You’re adorable, but let’s get you out of the kitchen,” he says. “I fear for the kitchen utensils.”

I try to protest, but he doesn’t budge, instead gently pushing me over to my bed.

“Stay here,” he instructs, pointing a finger at me, and I obediently sit down with my legs crossed. He glances around the room. “Where’s the recipe?”

I point to my laptop on the desk, and he walks over to it. He scans the instructions before gathering the necessary ingredients, then he skillfully begins mixing everything together. I watch in awe as he effortlessly navigates the kitchen, turning the potential disaster into something promising.

“You’re good at everything, aren’t you?” I ask him, half in admiration and half in jest.

“No, but if I wanted to have a birthday cake, I had to make it myself,” he says, a hint of sadness in his voice. My heart hurts for him.

“Not anymore,” I vow. He glances around at the chaos in the kitchen and then back at me.

“If you really want to get me a birthday cake, please spare us all the mess and just buy one,” he says, a smile on his face. I flip him off.

“I’m going to buy you the best and prettiest fucking cake you’ve ever eaten,” I declare. He just smirks. “Speaking of birthdays, when is yours?” I ask, realizing that we hadn’t discussed it before.

“September twenty-seventh,” he says, seemingly unfazed, but I jump up in surprise.

“That was two weeks ago! Why didn’t I know about it?” He smiles at the shock on my face.

“It’s okay. We had a nice day anyway,” he assures me.

My mind races, trying to recall what day it was, He laughs at my puzzled expression.

“It was our Sunday at the beach,” he clarifies, and my eyes widen in realization.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have bought you a present or organized something special!” I say, feeling a pang of guilt. He simply shrugs, a gentle smile on his face.

“The day was special. I loved hanging with you all day at the beach, and there was pizza and a movie. It was the best birthday in a long time,” he says.

“How old did you turn?” I ask.

“Twenty-five,” he answers with a shrug.

“Fuck, I’m a shitty best friend,” I say on a groan. He points the spatula at me in a playful warning.

“Don’t even start, or I’ll have to spank you with this,” he jokes.

“Just wait, next year, your birthday is going to be the biggest fucking thing you have ever seen. We’ll go to the Florida Keys for it,” I say, and he smiles.

“Can’t wait.”

* * *

The entire apartment is filled with the heavenly scent of vanilla as the cupcakes sit in the kitchenette. The icing is already prepared, so all that’s left is to wait for the cupcakes to cool down enough to be frosted. Gunner washes his hands once more before joining me on my bed. I wrap my arms around him, squeezing him tightly, or as much as one can squeeze a mountain of muscle.

“Thank you, Gun. I owe you one,” I say, and he smiles warmly in response.

“You never do. I had fun,” he assures me. I lean in to kiss his cheek.

“God, I love you,” I say with a laugh, and he gives me a small smile.

“Right back at you,” he replies.

He leans back to stretch out, but his gaze falls on my open suitcase on the other side of the bed. He sits up straight, concern in his eyes.

“Why is your suitcase packed? Are you going back?” he asks. I reach out to touch his arm, trying to soothe him.

“Back where? No, I’m not going anywhere, I just promised the guys that I’d stay with them for a few days,” I say, hoping to alleviate his worries. Gunner’s face visibly relaxes at my explanation before a flicker of concern passes over it once more.

“Why?” he asks, his voice filled with apprehension. I laugh at his reaction.

“Why not? They’re my boyfriends. If I want to stay over for a few days, I can,” I say, and his brows furrow in confusion.

“But you have a perfectly fine apartment. Why would you move in with them for a few days? They can come over, or you can spend a night there. There’s no need to move out,” he argues, clearly not understanding my decision. I can’t help but get a little bit agitated at his reaction.

“Relax. I’m not moving out,” I assure him. He lets out a huff of frustration.

“Yeah, whatever. It’s late, and I need a shower,” he says before standing up and making his way towards the door, determined to put some distance between us. “Goodnight.”

“Gunner!” I call out, rushing to stand up from the bed, but he’s already closed the door behind him. I quickly open it and make my way over to knock on his door, but there’s no response.

“Are you for real right now?” I ask, frustration evident in my voice, but all I hear is the sound of the shower turning on. I huff in annoyance. “I’ll text you tomorrow. Thank you again,” I yell at the door.

I return to my own apartment, feeling a mix of emotions. Uncertain if he heard me or if he really was in the shower, I decide to send him a text message instead.

Thank you again for your help. I’ll text you tomorrow. I love you.

His response comes immediately.

I love you too.