“Do you want to come with me?” I blurt out the question quickly, without thinking if I want him to say yes or no.
But when his smile covers his face, I’m filled with a similar happiness. “I would love to. Are you going to teach me the secret muffin recipe?”
I pretend to look offended. “Never. That goes with me to the grave.”
He chuckles, takes my empty mug and sets it in the sink behind him. “Fine. I’ll settle for the not-so-secret recipe.”
Being alone with Jackson in my kitchen this early in the morning feels oddly intimate. I know we’ve had sex, and last night we slept together, but his presence here during my early morning rituals is different somehow. These hours are usually my form of meditation. My way to process the previous day, prepare for the present day, and dream of the future.
“Can you hand me the raisins, please?”
Jackson reaches over and grabs the container I’m pointing to, and places it on the counter in front of me.
“Did you know I’ve never had raisins in a bran muffin before yours?”
I smile fondly, keeping my attention on the bowl of muffin batter in front of me. “It was a tip given to me by my Aunt Marilyn. She said raisins would add the sweetness that bran muffins were always missing.”
“She was a smart woman.” Jackson picks a raisin out of the container and pops it in his mouth.
“She is. She taught my mom how to bake, and mom taught me. I remember she would come to town for a weekend and the three of us would do nothing but make a mess in the kitchen, experimenting with flavour combos and creating dozens of muffins and scones.” Memories of those days come flooding back, and as always happens when I think of my parents, I’m filled with happiness for the time I had with them, and grief over losing out on so much. They died way too soon.
“How is it that you can make the best bread I’ve ever tasted, scones and muffins that would make a pastry chef weep, but you claim you can’t make cookies?”
I lift my hands in the universal sign for “who knows”. “It’s a mystery. Every time I try to follow a cookie recipe, they come out as hard as hockey pucks. It’s safer for everyone if I just leave the cookie baking to Kelly.”
Jackson nods and takes another raisin, and I swat his hand away. “Stay out of the ingredients, mister.”
He just chuckles and when my hands go back to the bowl in front of me, the sneak takes another.
Over the next hour or so, Jackson helps me prepare all of the muffin batter, get the bread loaves in the oven, and somehow, he convinces me to make cinnamon buns as well. Having him at the bakery with me is nice. He takes care of Milo when the dog needs to go out, and the time flies by with our easy conversation. But at the same time, I struggle to make sense of what’s happening. Something has clearly changed for him; even before when we added sex to our agreement he was not this openly flirtatious and affectionate. The little touches at the small of my back when he walks past me, fleeting kisses to my head, and the way he looks at me every now and then — all leave me feeling warm and flustered. I want to ask him what he’s thinking, but I also don’t want to ruin it. Because the needy, aroused part of me is just basking in the extra attention like his cat Harley basks in the sunshine.
When Kelly arrives, she doesn’t even bat an eye at Jackson’s presence, as if he’s been there many times before. We discuss the cookie flavours for the day, I write up the menu board, and she gets to work. As the morning goes on and the rest of my staff arrive, I know Jackson will have to leave. And when the time comes, he stands up from the stool he occupied for most of the morning and wraps his arms around me.
“This was fun,” he says quietly.
I nod against his chest, inhaling his comforting, sexy, all-masculine smell deeply.
When we separate, he picks up the box I filled with muffins and scones for the clinic staff and heads to the back door. He pets Milo, gives me one last smile and leaves.
“That man is crazy for you.”
Kelly’s voice startles me out of the trance I fell into watching Jackson leave.
“What? Oh. Yeah, well, you know.” I stammer out a reply. “He’s a great guy,” I say lamely.
“Mmhmm.” She gives me a knowing look. “Pretty easy on the eyes, too.”
I blush. “Very easy.”
We both giggle and get back to work, but the warm feeling inside of me doesn’t fade for a long time.
Later on, I’m out front, wandering through the front of the bakery, chatting with a few customers when Riley and Dean come through the door. Riley is beaming, and Dean looks incredibly happy.
“Hey you two, what’s going on?”
Riley beckons me closer, so I crouch down to her level. Her eyes are glistening with what I assume are happy tears. “We met with a high-risk OB-GYN yesterday who specializes in spinal cord injury patients. He agreed we could try to have a baby.”
I pull her in for a hug. Riley’s dreamt of having a baby for years, but her health was precarious for a while. Hearing that she’s stable enough to try and conceive feels like a miracle. A well-deserved miracle.
