I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything at all. But the thought makes warmth spread through my chest, settling somewhere near my heart.
The remaining twenty minutes of my shift pass in a blur of wiping down counters and restocking napkins. A few customers trickle in, but it’s the lull between morning rush and afternoon snack time, so the bakery stays relatively quiet.
When the clock finally hits three, I practically sprint to the back room to grab my bag. I catch my reflection in the small mirror by the employee lockers and pause.
I look different. Not in any obvious way—my pink-streaked hair is still pooling around my shoulders, my face is makeup-free like always. But there’s something in my eyes, something softer and more open than usual.
I look like someone who’s letting herself hope.
The drive to River’s house feels both too long and too short. My hands are slightly sweaty on the steering wheel, and my heart is doing this weird stuttering thing it’s been doing since last night.
I’m going to see River. River, who I kissed. River, who kissed me back like I was something he treasured. River, who held me while I cried and didn’t run away when I showed him all my broken pieces.
I pull into his driveway and kill the engine, taking a deep breath before I get out of the car. The late afternoon sun is warm on my shoulders as I walk to his front door, and I’m acutely aware of the way my pulse is racing.
This is ridiculous. It’s just River. Just cooking. Just like every other day this week. Except it’s not like every other day, because everything changed last night.
I ring the doorbell, and my stomach does a full aerobic routine. The door opens, and River is standing there in jeans and a blue t-shirt that fits him way too well. His hair is slightly messy and when he sees me, his whole face lights up with this smile that makes my knees weak.
“Hey,” he says, and his voice is warm and a little rough around the edges.
“Hey.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly shy. “Ready to challenge me with another mystery ingredient?”
His smile grows wider. “Always. Come in.”
I follow him inside, and he leads me straight to the kitchen. “Wait here,” he says, heading toward the pantry with that same mischievous energy he had yesterday.
I lean against the counter, my heart still doing its weird racing thing. This is fine. Everything is fine. We’re just two people who happened to kiss last night and are now continuing our professional arrangement where he pays me to cook dinner.
Totally normal. Nothing complicated about this at all.
River emerges from the pantry holding a jar. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He presents the jar with a flourish. It’s tahini—sesame seed paste, smooth and creamy.
I take the jar, turning it over in my hands. “Tahini. Interesting.”
“Too easy?” River’s eyebrows furrow with concern. “I can get something else if?—”
“No, it’s perfect.” I’m already thinking, my mind racing through possibilities. “Tahini is versatile. I can go savory or sweet with it. This is a great challenge.”
Relief crosses his face. “Good. I was worried it might be too straightforward after the lavender.”
“It’s not about how exotic the ingredient is,” I say, setting the jar on the counter. “It’s about learning to think creatively with what I have. And tahini has so many applications. This is going to be fun.”
River’s smile is so genuine, so pleased, that I have to look away before I do something stupid like kiss him again in the middle of his kitchen in broad daylight.
“All right.” He starts backing toward the hallway. “I’ll let you work. I’m on a self-imposed deadline with some of the footage, so I really need to focus for a while.”
“Go.” I make a shooing motion. “I’ve got this.”
He pauses in the doorway, and for a moment we just look at each other. There’s something in his expression—something soft and warm and maybe a little uncertain—that makes it hard for me to breathe.
“Kiera,” he says quietly. “About last night?—”
“We can talk later,” I say quickly, because I’m not ready for this conversation yet. Not when I’m still trying to figure out what I’m feeling. “Go edit. Let me cook.”
