Page 29 of Win a Date with a Baker

She listens. Really listens.

Not politely. Curiously.

Then, once the filling comes together, she dips the tiniest spoon into it. “Hmm.”

I immediately look up. “What?”

“It’s incredible.”

“I know.”

“But...”

There’s always a but. She reaches for the salt. Just a pinch.

Then a lemon. One tiny squeeze.

I blink. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Trust me.”

I stir it in. Taste.

Pause. Taste again.

She folds her arms. “Well?”

I stare into the bowl. “I’ve made this recipe for six years.”

“And?”

I frown. “Fucking hell. You just made it better.”

She tries to hide her smile. And fails completely.

I look at her.

Really look at her. The flour dusting her cheek.

The champagne making her eyes sparkle.

The way she belongs in this kitchen as naturally as if she’d always been here.

“You make everything better.”

For a long moment, neither of us moves.

Then she steps closer. “Does the teacher approve of the student?”

“The student may have just taught the teacher something.”

She smiles. “I kind of like hearing that.”

“I kind of like saying it.”

She reaches up and brushes a streak of flour off my jaw.

I catch her wrist gently before she pulls away.