“Lava cakes. Small, individual, with a molten center and easy to make.” I start melting chocolate and butter together. “They’re rich, indulgent, and best enjoyed warm.”
“Like a relationship,” she says softly, and when I glance up, she’s blushing. “I mean... that’s the theme, right? Partnership?”
“It is.” I want to tell her that I’m not thinking about the competition at all. That all I can think about is how perfect she looks in the bakery, how right it feels to have her here. “Can you crack these eggs?”
She moves closer— so close I can smell her shampoo, something floral and light. Her shoulder brushes mine as she reaches for the eggs, and electricity shoots through me.
“Like this?” She cracks an egg one-handed, perfectly, into my bowl.
“Show off,” I tease.
“Medical school. We had to practice sutures on eggs.” She cracks three more in quick succession. “Turns out I’m good with fragile things.”
You’re good with me,I want to say.And I’m definitely fragile when it comes to you, Dr. Monroe.
But Ben runs up, covered in frosting and grinning. “You guys look like you’re on a cooking show. Like you are having fun! Like you could… kiss!” And he jumps back like he’s dropped a firecracker in our midst and doesn’t want to be there when it explodes.
“Ben,” I warn, but inside it doesn’t sound like such a bad thing. A kiss… just a peck… maybe a smooch… they all sound absolutely brilliant.
“What? It’s true!” He looks at Willa. “Daddy talks about youall the time. He even?—”
“Buddy, don’t you have cookies to decorate?” I interrupt, my face burning.
Ben giggles and runs off, and Willa is trying very hard not to laugh.
“All the time?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.
“He’s seven. He exaggerates.” I pour the batter into ramekins, avoiding her eyes. “It’s more like... some of the time.”
“Henry Hunter.” She steps even closer, and now we’re almost touching. “Are you telling me you talk about me?”
I look at her— really look at her. At the way her eyes are sparkling, like she’s happy. At the small smile playing on her lips. At the openness in her expression that I haven’t seen before.
“Every day,” I admit. “Every single day since you walked into my bakery three months ago.”
Her breath catches. “Henry?—”
“We’re have way through!” Mark calls, and the moment shatters.
I slide the lava cakes into the oven, and Willa and I stand there, closer than necessary, watching through the glass door as they rise.
“Now what?” she whispers.
“Now we wait. And hope they don’t burn.”
“I thought you were the expert.”
“I am. But you make me nervous.” I risk a glance at her. “In the best way.”
She’s staring at me with an expression I can’t quite read. Vulnerable. Hopeful. Scared. Maybe all three.
I know, sweetheart. I’m scared too.
Chapter 11
Willa
The lava cakescome out perfect— rich chocolate with molten centers that ooze when we cut into them for tasting. I sprinkle on pink and red heart sprinkles on one ramekin with a flourish before the tasting starts. Mark declares us the winners, but I barely hear him because Henry’s hand is on the small of my back, warm and possessive, and I never want him to move it.
