I follow him through the house and up his stairs to a massive master bedroom. I stand at the door, waiting for him to grab me something to wear. Anything. I don’t care at all. This doesn’t mean anything.
River comes out of his closet with a hoodie. “I think this will fit you.”
I take it from him. “Thanks.”
He points down the hallway. “You can change in there.”
I nod and go to the bathroom. I quickly change into his hoodie. The minute I pull it over my head I realize what a huge mistake I’ve made. It smells like him. Dear heavens. I make my way back to the kitchen, ignoring the butterflies now assaulting me because I’m wearing River’s hoodie. River joins me, his own shirt changed too.
“Okay.” I get back into chef mode and survey my ingredients, doing a mental inventory. “I lost some tahini, but I still have enough for the sauce. The pasta is salvageable. I can do this.”
“I have complete faith in you,” River says, and the sincerity in his voice makes my chest warm.
“Go.” I point toward the hallway. “Let me work. And this time, try not to distract me by being all... helpful and close and—” I stop myself before I say something I’ll regret. “Just go.”
He grins—that full, genuine smile that makes him look impossibly more attractive—and heads back toward his editing room.
I take a deep breath and get back to work. This time, I’m careful. Deliberate. I dice the garlic without incident. Halve the cherry tomatoes and get them in the oven to roast. Mix up the tahini sauce, adding extra lemon juice to brighten it up.
The brownies are more complex, but I’m in the zone now. I melt chocolate and butter, whisk in sugar and eggs, and carefully swirl in the remaining tahini to create beautiful marbled patterns. Into the oven they go.
By the time River reappears forty minutes later, I’ve plated two servings of perfectly composed tahini pasta, and the kitchen smells like roasted tomatoes and fresh herbs instead of disaster.
“Wow,” he says, taking in the plated dishes. “You did it.”
“Did you doubt me?”
“Never.” He sits down at his usual spot, and I join him. “Though I will admit, after the Great Flour Incident, I wasn’t sure how this was going to turn out.”
“We’re never speaking of the Great Flour Incident again.”
“Oh, we’re definitely speaking of it. Probably frequently.” He picks up his fork and twirls pasta onto it. “This is going in my top ten favorite Kiera moments.”
“You have a list?”
“I’m starting one now. It currently only has one entry, but it’s a strong entry.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling as I take my first bite of pasta. The sauce is creamy and rich, the tahini flavor balanced perfectly by the lemon and garlic. The roasted tomatoes add bursts of sweetness, and the fresh basil ties everything together.
It’s good. Really good. Despite everything that went wrong, I managed to create something I’m actually proud of.
River takes a bite and makes that sound—the one I’m starting to live for—where he closes his eyes and just savors it.
“This is fantastic,” he says. “Kiera, seriously. The sauce is perfect. It’s nutty but not overwhelming, and the roasted tomatoes add this depth of flavor that makes every bite interesting.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so.” He takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “This is exactly the kind of dish that would impress competition judges. You took a potentially tricky ingredient, had a complete disaster in the middle of cooking, and still managed to create something restaurant-quality. That shows real skill and resilience.”
The praise makes my cheeks warm, but I don’t deflect it this time. I just let myself feel proud of what I accomplished.
When we finish the pasta, I bring out the brownies. River’s eyes light up when he sees the tahini swirls marbled through the chocolate.
“These look amazing.”
“Try one before you make declarations.”
He takes a bite, and his expression melts into pure bliss. “Oh wow. Kiera. These are—” He doesn’t finish, just takes another bite.
