“It’ll be something new,” I finish, the words feeling hollow but necessary. “I’m ready for a change.”
“I get that.” He reaches out for me, his movement slow and deliberate. “This is new.”
“Yeah.” I grin, relishing the heat of his body as he draws closer. “It is.”
We’re about to get even closer, the space between us charging with electricity, when a timer goes off in the kitchen. The shrill beeping cuts through the moment like a knife.
“The dough is ready,” Noah whispers, though he doesn’t move away immediately.
“Let’s hope it rose.” I spin around and head for the door, needing to put some distance between us before I do something reckless.
“You doubt me?”
“You said you were distracted.” I shoot a teasing grin over my shoulder, catching his expression. “How do we know that wasn’t baking soda we put in instead of flour?”
“Good point.” There’s a smile in his voice, warm and rich like honey, and I can feel his gaze on me as I walk down the hallway. It’s like a physical touch, raising goosebumps on my arms.
A delicious tingle runs through my body. I’m supposed to be focused on baking today, but all I can think about is Noah’s touch—how electric it was, how I want it again, how next time he touches me I might beg him not to stop. The thought makes me shiver.
“How does it look?” Noah asks, so close behind me his breath tickles my neck. The warmth of him radiates against my back.
I pull the cloth off the bowl with a flourish. The dough has doubled in size, full of air and life. “It rose!”
“And you doubted us,” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest.
Us? No, I don’t doubt us at all. What’s happening here feels so right, even if I don’t fully understand it yet. It’s like finding a recipe that just works, no explanation needed.
Spinning around, I find that he’s inches away. Close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the faint scar above his left eyebrow.
And yet he comes even closer, my back pressing against the cool counter as his hands settle on my hips. The kiss is gentle and sweet this time, different from our first urgent collision. Slow, as if we have all the time in the world. His lips are soft but sure, tasting faintly of the coffee we never got around to drinking.
Longing winds its way through me like smoke, curling into every corner. I clutch his T-shirt, needing an anchor. His tongue flicks across mine, and I moan into his mouth, the sound surprising me with its intensity. I’m seconds away from losing it and jumping right on top of him, consequences be damned.
But he draws back, the kiss broken. Our breathing fills the quiet kitchen.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice.
His breath is ragged, chest rising and falling rapidly. He softly sweeps his knuckles down my cheek, the gesture so tender it makes my heart ache. “I don’t want to stop, either. I don’t want to take things further in the kitchen, though. I’d spend the rest of my life worried the health inspector would find out.”
The laugh that ripples through me dispels some of the uncomfortable lust. My body is still humming, but I can think more clearly now. “Yeah. I get it.”
His grin, lopsided and adorable, steals my heart completely. There’s flour in his hair now, and his lips are slightly swollen from our kisses. “I really like this though. It’s unexpected, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about you in this way.”
“Same.” I bite my lip, tasting him there still.
He studies me for a moment, his gaze intense and searching. “I want to see where this goes, Alexis.”
I nod, nerves and excitement making my throat too thick for speaking. The weight of what we’re starting settles over me like a warm blanket.
“For now, though...” His gaze drifts to the sourdough, which waits patiently in its bowl.
“For now, we bake. Don’t worry. We’re on the same page. This cookbook comes first.”
He looks relieved, his shoulders dropping slightly. “It does. However, I’ll need to stand behind you and guide your hands through the next steps. That okay?”
I roll my eyes and smile, trying to keep things light even as my pulse races. “Oh, no. I would completely hate that.”
Turning around, I bat my lashes at him in an exaggerated fashion. He steps up behind me, his broad chest firm and comforting against my back. I can feel his heartbeat, quick but steady. Together, we reach for the bowl, his hands covering mine as we remove the dough from its resting place. The dough is soft and pillowy, alive beneath our joined touch.
