Color rises across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She giggles, that intoxicating little laugh and I hand her the phone.
While she snaps photos of her unbaked masterpiece, I survey the kitchen.
A disaster.
My beautiful wife turns every kitchen into a war zone. Flour and sugar coat the counters, sticky dough fingerprints mark the cabinet handles, and a step stool leans against the wall where she couldn’t reach the top shelf. Her ring glints by the sink, safe from the chaos of her baking storm.
My Vasilisa leaves the existence of herself everywhere.
Proof.
I smile to myself, watching her. Over a year of marriage, and she surprises me every day. How a man like me ended up lucky enough to have her is beyond comprehension, but I’ve long stopped questioning the miracle.
“What?” she asks, catching my stare.
“Nothing.” I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, my chin resting on her shoulder. “Just admiring the view.”
She leans back against my chest, her body fitting perfectly against mine. “The cinnamon rolls will be ready in about twenty minutes once I put them in the oven.”
“Mmm,” I murmur against her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin beneath the sugar and spice. “And what should we do while we wait?”
Vasilisa turns in my arms, a mischievous gleam in her eye. She reaches up, leaving a streak of flour across my cheek. “You could help me clean up.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s not what I had in mind, Dea.”
“I knowexactlywhat you had in mind, Santo Amato.” She pokes my chest playfully. “But if we startthat,these rolls will burn.”
I sigh dramatically, pulling away. “Fine… how many are you making?” I ask reaching for a dish towel and eyeing her engagement ring by the sink. Last time, it ended up baked into a loaf of bread. That was aninterestingdinner.
“Two batches,” she says, not looking up and slipping the rolls into the oven. “One for us and one for Adriana.”
At the mention of my brother’s wife I sigh. “Angelo doesn’t deserve your sweet treats Dea…”
She wipes her hands on the apron and shakes her head. “I thought the two of you were good and IlikeAdriana!”
“We are… fine,” I appease, “but no one deserves your treats but me.”
Vasilisa laughs, wrapping her arms around my waist. “You’re being ridiculous. Sharing is part of Christmas.”
“Hmm.” I pull her closer, leaving a kiss on her forehead. “Not when it comes to you, your baking, or anything else I consider mine.”
Her smile softens, and she reaches up on her tip toes to wipe the flour from my cheek. “Possessive as always.”
“Protective,” I correct, catching her hand and kissing her palm. “There’s a difference.”
“If you say so.” She glances at the timer. “Nineteen minutes left.”
I chuckle, “You’re going to count each one?”
“Yes,” She says seriously, pressing closer with that look I know all too well in her eye.
“Nineteen minutes is a long time to just stand here,” she whispers.
“Is it?” I ask, my voice dropping lower as I back her against the counter. “I can think of a few ways to pass the time.”
“Can you now?” Her breath hitches as my hands find her hips.
“Mmm.” I lower my head, my lips brushing against her ear. “But you’re the one who said we should clean up first.”
