“What do you mean? I see they got strawberries. Do you think they’re gonna do ice cream sundaes or fondue?” I asked.
“Eh, both. Probably. Lots of tasting.” He cleared his throat, a blush climbing his neck. “I’ll dress the pancake stacks when they’re ready with strawberries and cream, if that sounds good to you.”
“Yes, please.” I texted Kat to make sure it was okay to use.
Once we got the thumbs-up, we got to work. He handled the fruit and knives since he was slightly less sleep-deprived.
I ladled the pancake mix into the pan, trying to make a heart shape. Two little cute dollops. Uneven, but cute. This was the perfect first meal to cook with my boyfriend. So romantic!
I happily lumped another batch out—which promptly splattered across the pan.
“Oh no.” I tried to spread the mixture out and ended up with sort of tapered veins coming off it.
“Are those heart-shaped pancakes?” Angel teased, glancing over my shoulder.
“Um, yes. I’m making you Valentine’s-shaped hearts as well as slightly more realistic organs to celebrate how we met,” I said.
The ‘veins’ were cooking way faster than the rest of the pancake. He raised his brows at the sizzling disaster waiting to happen.
I plopped a few more pancakes in, making the best of where they landed. “I know they’re a little weird-looking. But that’s okay. You already have the heart that matters,” I said, batting my eyelashes.
“Aw, pidge. I’m honored.” He massaged the nape of my neck and peppered kisses across my face.
“Safety hazard,” I squeaked, playfully swatting him away.
He hugged me from behind, swaying gently as he watched the batter bubble. “You’re doing amazing. It smells good, and I bet it’ll taste even better.”
Being so close to him and his natural scent made me want to add vanilla extract to the batter. But the cream should be enough of that. “This is the first time I’m cooking for you. I want to make it special,” I said.
“It is.” He squeezed my waist. “Hey, want to see a trick? I’ve learned a few things from the kitchen.”
I stepped back and grinned. “Please, show me your expertise.”
He eased the spatula out of my hand, then stacked the completed pancakes with flair.
I clapped in appreciation. “Very fancy.”
He bowed, then flipped the whipped cream can over his forearms to present it formally, his voice thick with a French accent. “Bonjour, mademoiselle. Would you like some, eh, whipped cream for your berr-eez?”
“Yes, please.”
“We just shake-a the can, then we present, parfait.” He winked, pressing the nozzle firmly.
Cream exploded from the can. Onto his face. Onto my chest. Ricocheting off the pancakes to catch our hands. It was a brief, sugary firework no one could escape. Not even Jinx, who darted across our feet with an indignant meow for interrupting his breakfast.
Angel blinked through an uneven spray of cream across his face, his eyes wide. “E-excusez-moi. That doesn’t usually happen to me.”
I cackled laughter, wiping away tears and cream. “You must’ve been really excited for breakfast this morning.”
“I was,” he said, accent dropped as he put down the can. “Sorry about the mess.”
“Eh, life’s messy.” I scooped a particularly impressive glob of cream off his cheek. “But spending time with you is always a treat.” I sucked my finger with a happy little pop and beamed at him.
He stared at me for a second, his pupils dilated and skin flushed. “Tori…”
Was that unhygienic to eat off his body? I rubbed my finger against my lips, not sure what to do. “We can clean after we eat.”
He cupped my face, careful not to smear anything across my hot cheeks. “I want to spend every morning with you,” he said, close enough I could smell the mix of strawberries and cream on his breath.
