“We can’t live without running water, Owen,”he whines in a voice that doesn’t sound like me, at all, resting his arms on the counter and caging me in.“What about when I poop…”
I growl and start pouring flour into a bowl. Because not only are we living without air conditioning for one more day thanks to the Day Twenty offer we turned down, but we now also have an impossible Day Twenty-Four challenge. Bake a two-tiered, elegantly decorated wedding cake… in a mini-Tinkerbell, tin furnace. Only one couple took the offer to leave. The doctor-teacher duo from Vermont in Tink Six. Apparently a fat check for fifteen thousand dollars was just too appealing against the thought of living for five days without running water or five days without air conditioning in an early Georgia summer.
I bet Dr. Dan and his precious,educator-of-childrenwife are laughing their heads off in their Vermont home, set at a cool sixty-five degrees.
Jerks.
“You’ll hear everything,”my precious husband continues, impervious to how close he is to getting a handful of flour to his stinky, sweaty face.“No AC won’t be so bad. It’s only May, Owen… It’ll be fun. Like real live camping.”He switches to his own tone, one that grates. “Well, I happen to know you’ve never been camping a day in your life, Brooke Jones.”
He may be my favorite person in the world, but I plan to freeze Owen out completely until this cake is baked and I’m basking in the weight of our win this evening, so that when I do grace him with my voice again, it will be to say,“I told you it would be fun, you turd. Now, since I’m sweaty, sleep on the floor.”
Though, at this juncture, I’m having zero fun, and the idea of sleeping anywhere without Owen beside me makes me grumpier than the hot-lava box I’m living in.
“This is ridiculous!” I shout to myself and myself alone. Because as I just determined, I will not be speaking to my husband. Owen chuckles from where he’s still hovering at my back. “I signed up forSuite Hearts, notThe Great British Baking Show.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t have AC on that show either, but then you wouldn’t have had an excuse to marry me so…”
That’s it. I know I’ll regret this because retaliation is certain, but I scoop a handful of flour, turn as fast as I’m able, and sneak attack him, blowing it straight into his face before he knows what hit him. Thanks to the layer of sweat all over Owen’s bare upper body, the flour creates a nice, lasting coating from his face down to his belly button. Excellent work. Frankly, I feel better already.
Thisisfun.
“You are gonna pay for that.” He moves quicker than is fair, pinning me against the counter with his knee and one arm, then rubs his flour-covered face against mine like a cat in heat. His hand works its way up to the flour, diving in and running it in my messy bun and all over my face and shoulders.
I’m squealing and laughing and doing little to fight back, when Owen slips his big hand up from where it was planted on my waist, resting it on the bare skin between my shoulder blades, and the unbearable heat surrounding us magnifies in a much more appealing way. Our breaths come fast and in sync. Owen runs his nose along the length of mine, mixing sweat and flour and setting my soul on fire.
It’s when his lips find the corner of my mouth, my jaw, and then a soft press against my neck that it hits me.
If I could have anything in this world, it would be this life—with Owen.
It’s a thought I’ve never dared allow myself to truly consider, but the desire to bicker and laugh and make up with this man, forever, consumes my soul so fully, I feel my heart pang with longing. Even when I’m miserable, having a bit of a pity party and, yeah, a little annoyed with him, Owen is still, confoundedly, the only person I want to be with.
I love him. I love my best friend,andI love my husband.
“Owen?”
“Yes, Love?” he says quietly, as his flour-dusted eyelashes flutter, meeting my eyes. I have a theory I’ve been working with over the last few days. One I haven’t tested for myself. When I almost kissed Owen last week, just before our first offer, he stopped us. Though it stung at first, I trusted him, receiving an immediate payoff as soon as we reached the roof and he planted a kiss on me within about thirty seconds of us being near the other contestants.
I know the man loves affection, and physical touch is obviously his love language, one I’m trying to grow more bold in showing him. But if my suspicion is correct, Owen only kisses me when we’re with other people. The camera, Blaire and Evan, even the crowd for our first date… It’s like he’s using them as a shield between us, though I’m not sure why.
I lift my hands, running them along his chest until they’re settled in the long hair at the base of his neck. Owen closes his eyes as if he’s in pain, giving me the chance to study the sharp curve of his jaw and the shadow of hair that covers it, now dusted in flour. His closed lips, pursed and tightening with each deep, steadying breath he takes through his nose.
“Why can’t you look at me?” I ask, curling my fingers in his hair. “Why won’t you kiss me?”
His eyes slowly open, searching for the camera that’s always nearby. Right now it’s settled on the small kitchen table, beside the orchid that will surely die before the end of the week.
“Without the camera, O.” I narrow my eyes, lifting to my tiptoes for better access. I may be the instigator here, but I can’t believe I’m actually about to kiss my best friend. I know we have since that night, but Owen has always been the pursuer. But, this time,I’mgoing to kisshim.Again. And if—when—I do, I know everything will change. This is me saying yes, for real. Forever. And I’m so scared. But I think I’m ready.
I draw him closer, and wonder of wonder, he doesn’t fight me. He wants this too. I know he does. For the first time, maybe in all our years of friendship, we are in exactly the same place in this thing, but he’s letting me lead. Just like he always has, Owen won’t push me into something if he knows I don’t want it.
Our lips are so close, I feel his breaths against mine.
And the speaker in our trailer blares a siren. “Contestants,” Sumer says.
Owen exhales, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. I stomp my foot because life simply isn’t fair.
“This is your one hour warning. You have one hour, Suite Hearts.”
“We better get to work.” He steps back, brushing flour from my cheek with his thumb and a regretful smile. “I’ll open the door for some air, okay?”
