“They’re hell around summer, especially with all the pineberries in the planters,” I told him. “They don’t go for the fresh ones, only the ones that fall and rot.” At least, that’s what I told myself, since I had pineberry planters on the window of my apartment, which I would see flies circle before trying their best to thump their thick bodies against the windowpanes. “What pies did you make?”
Henry pulled one of the circular trays away to reveal a pie made from six other pie segments, all Frankensteined together.“If you hadn’t wanted to come over, I was going to bring this to you. I’ve got one for Oliver, one for the B&B brothers, and there are two more looking for a good home.”
I counted them. Six pies, six trays. “But that’s only five.”
“I’ve got to have one myself,” he said, patting his stomach and pushing it out a little. “You can’t trust a baker who doesn’t eat their own bakes, can you?”
In that moment, I swore he winked at me, or it was potentially two slow disconnected blinks that looked like winks—one wink by each eye, for each of my eyes. “So, what pies are they?”
“Okay, so, we’ve got local apples in a classic apple pie. Then we go to the peach pie, my favorite. I love a peach,” he said, and this time he definitely winked. “A triple berry pie... raspberries, strawberries, and local pineberries. Then we’ve got the cream pies.” He smirked, making full eye contact like he was really trying to communicate the double meaning to me. “Maple cream pie, chocolate cream pie, and a lemon cream-cheese pie. That one has a little meringue on top.”
I licked my lips, smacking them together. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’ve also got some whipped cream, or as the Brits call it,squirty cream. I heard that one on the baking show they have there,” he said.
Now he was definitely flirting, or the heat on the way over had gotten to me and this was going to end with me in hospital with an IV in my arm and someone holding a cold compress to my head, telling me it was all going to be okay.
Henry had already gotten the can of cream from the fridge by the time I’d come out of my thought fog. He shook it up really well, and the second his thumb pressed the nozzle, thick lines of cream went flying into the air, most landing on the metal countertop, but one directly over my face.
“Lucky I like cream,” I said, sticking my tongue out and lapping up as much of what was near my mouth as possible.
“I guess we’re even for the punch now,” he said, swiping cream from my face with a thumb. He stuck it in his mouth, sucking the cream clean off. “Mhm, even better.”
I stared, slack-jawed. “I wanna taste,” I mumbled.
“Am I reading this right?” he asked.
I shrugged, reduced to being an indecisive mess.
His actions happened in blur. Shaking up the can again, he got closer to me, and sprayed the can between us. All over his face it went. Licking the vanilla whipped cream from his mouth with my tongue, his tongue came out to meet mine. And we kissed.
The taste on his tongue was so sweet, I couldn’t help trying to fight for more of it, and his tongue was restless. I had to pull away just to make sure this had happened, and the cream on my face had turned gluey, sticking an eye together.
4. HENRY
I’d made a mess with all that whipped cream, but it tasted so good, especially coming off Leo’s skin and tongue.
“I—” he said in the brief moment he pulled away before going back in, and his tongue immediately latched onto mine again. So sweet, so delicious. I held the back of his head, keeping him in place as I accepted every part of his tongue in my mouth, wrestling with it for the taste.
We were now so sticky from the dried up cream that his eye had stuck in a permanent wink and my facial hair had begun itching. “I think we should clean off.”
“I still want to try the pies, though.”
“Really?” I asked, taking his hand and guiding him along to the large empty basin. “Because I didn’t know if you thought I was just being friendly or trying to see if you wanted to go out on a date.”
His warm hand slipped right out of mine. “You like me?”
“What’s not to like?” I looked him up and down, a smile etched on my face from all the mess I’d made with the whipped cream. I took complete blame for that. “You’re helpful, you’re cute, and best of all, you’re always smiling.”
“I thought maybe you were just being friendly, and I was trying to figure you out,” he said.
I pulled the faucet out; it was attached to a metal hose for ease of cleaning. “All you had to do was ask. I’m a pretty open book, I think.”
He snickered. “Yeah, I can see that now, but I didn’t know it before. Plus, you’ve got this business to run. I thought you were just being kind to me because I have connections.”
I couldn’t help laughing a little. “That was not why I was being kind,” I told him. “Now, do you want me to hold the pressure nozzle, or do you want to do it?”
He touched the side of my hand and nodded. “I think I trust you.”
