It ends up taking a full ten hours of my life, and by the end, I have two decent-looking loaves of sourdough. One of them has a rough, heart-shaped mark on the top. Olivia showed mehow to use a blade to make designs in the dough, but I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. I was made for manual labor, not whateverthisis.
When I arrive at Angie’s house, she’s already curled up on the couch with a blanket pulled around her shoulders, and My Big Fat Greek Wedding is queued up to her favorite scene.
She presses pause on the TV as I stride past her into the kitchen.
“What’s that smell?” she asks, her brow furrowed.
Not quite meeting her gaze, I set the brown paper bag on the island and head for the fridge. “I don’t smell anything.”
“You’re lying. What’s in the bag?”
When I don’t answer, she shrugs off her blanket and strides over to me. She gets to it before I can stop her, the brown paper bag crinkling as she pulls open the flap. “Oh, my god. Is that sourdough? It smells amazing. Where did you get it?”
I set all of the ingredients on the counter and pull out a frying pan for the bacon. “I made it.”
“Bullshit. Sourdough takes hours. When would you have had time?”
Doesn’t she know by now there’s not a single thing I wouldn’t do for her?
I rest my palms on the island and lean in close. “I make time for the people and things that matter to me.”
She stares at me, dumbfounded, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
I grip her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “That’s you and tater tot, in case that wasn’t clear.”
Her head slowly rolls to the side, and her expression softens. “Griffin. You didn’t have to?—”
I cut her off with a kiss to the tip of her nose. “I wanted to. Go sit down and relax. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Instead of retreating to the living room, she slowly stepsaround the island, threads her fingers into my hair, and pulls me down for a leisurely kiss. It’s soft and achingly sweet, and I don’t dare to deepen it. When she finally releases me, I’ve all but forgotten how to speak.
I watch the subtle sway of her hips as she retreats to the sofa, the globes of her round ass peeking out beneath the blanket, showing me she’s not wearing anything on her bottom half.
Fuck me.
I swear she taunts me on purpose. As much as I’d love to skip to the part of the evening where she’s wrapped around me again, I should feed her first.
As the bacon sizzles in the frying pan, I turn my attention to the avocado. Angie’s phone lights up in my periphery, but I can’t make anything out from this distance. She laughs and types out a response. Another message comes in, and the cycle repeats.
“Is that your little baby mama group chat?”
She glances over her shoulder, eyeing me critically. “What do you know about that?”
“Not much. Just that you’ve been telling them about your cravings.” Her face flushes pink, and I lower my voice to a gravelly tone. “I was talking about the sourdough, baby girl. What else have you been craving?”
Her phone dings again. She falls back on the couch as laughter overtakes her—body shaking, feet kicking, all-consuming laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, my god.” She scrambles into a sitting position. “Oh, my god. I’m gonna pee.”
She dashes into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I look back at the sofa where her discarded phone lies unlocked and face up on the cushion with a photo of me in Olivia’s frilly apron still visible on the screen. There’s floureverywhere, on my jeans, my face, my hands. I can’t even blame her for laughing; I look ridiculous.
I set the bacon aside and slice the avocado. When she reappears, I don’t waste any time ditching the unfinished meal and pulling her into my arms. “Do you find it funny that I spent all day making bread especially for you, my beautiful wife?”
Goose bumps erupt across her soft skin, and she swallows. “No, of course not.” She runs her fingers through my hair. A low groan rumbles out of me. “I find it funny that you did it all in a cutesy pink apron about three sizes too small with daisies on the pocket and a ruffly lace trim. It’s like putting a tutu on a grizzly bear.”
“I’ll show you a grizzly bear,” I grumble, hoisting her onto the counter. I shove her thighs apart and sink to my knees. “Feet up on the counter. I’m gonna eat you alive.”
