“Yes, please. Anything.” I clasped my hands, fingers steepled as if I were praying. Geez, I really had to get a grip. I was probably alarming the hell out of Viggo. I could just imagine the “Did you know the donut guy is bonkers?” conversation he’d have with his old friend, and I couldn’t blame him.
“Freya is part hippie artist, part sophisticated woman. Her family has a large garden in Sweden…vegetables of all kinds. Flowers, too. When you grow up with food in your backyard, you tend to be mindful of what you put in your mouth,ja? She’s beenreading nutrition labels on food products since she was a kid. It’s a habit, I think. So…the child growing in her belly won’t be ingesting anything unhealthy. Even the tuna fish she had yesterday was light canned or something with a very low mercury hazard. I only know because she told me. And before you ask, she would not eat raw fish while pregnant.” Viggo held a palm open. “Does that help?”
I grinned. “You think I’m nuts, huh?”
“A little,” he teased, pinching his thumb and index finger together. “But…it means you care, and that’s a good thing.”
“Thanks.” Okay, my smile was so big, my cheeks ached. If I wasn’t careful, I’d do something rash and impulsive like hug him.
“You’re not going to hug me.”
“Geez, it’s like you’re reading my mind. C’mere. Bring it in and get it over with.”
Viggo rolled his eyes. “No. Go away, Dexter. Bother someone else.”
For reasons unknown, I took his lighthearted grumbling as a challenge. Under his gruff exterior, Viggo was a teddy bear who cared about his friend and by default, cared about my child. No one else knew, and damn it, I needed this to feel real and special and something worth celebrating.
So maybe that was why I launched forward and wrapped my arms around Viggo’s neck.
It was supposed to be a quick embrace. So fast he’d barely register contact. Except it didn’t work out that way. The moment our chests collided, that tingle from earlier zinged through my body. I didn’t know Viggo well, but on some core level, hefeltfamiliar.
I snapped out of the haze, my lopsided grin hopefully masking any awkwardness. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
He narrowed his eyes and somehow, I knew he felt it, too. That had to be it. That had to be why we were standing too close, leaning into each other. Was he going to kiss me? Fuck, I hoped so. But also…this was a bad idea.
A terrible idea.
A regret waiting to happen.
So, I made it worse and kissed his cheek just as he turned his head. And of course, I caught the corner of his mouth, too.
It was impulsive, innocent, and brief…no tongue, no roving hands or swaying hips. It was there and gone in an instant.
Viggo licked his bottom lip. “Was that supposed to happen?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I squeaked. “I, um—I should…go.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Good-bye, donut man.”
I huffed, almost tripping over my feet on the porch steps in my haste to get the fuck out of dodge. I didn’t dare turn back, but I sensed Viggo’s smile and damned if that didn’t do something for me.
“Do you know any fruit facts? ’Cause I do.”
I turned off the mixer, surveying the mess of flour, almond, and blueberries on the prep island. The kitchen was Alberto’s domain during baking hours. However, as the mastermind behind the nontraditional recipes at Dexter’s Donuts, I commandeered the kitchen most afternoons before I coached flag football to test flavors and make sure my creations looked and tasted amazing and worth the premium surcharge. I usually worked alone, but today, Reg’s nine-year-old daughter was my honorary assistant.
Gretchen should have been on the field with her classmates, but…the kid hated sports. No offense taken. Her ambivalence confused her family more than me, to be honest. Her dad had been a stand-out athlete in high school, and her mom and brother both played flag football for their age groups, along with most of her peers.
Not Gretch. She was a quirky kid who didn’t have a ton offriends, and the ones she did have didn’t care about sports either. They liked science, math, and stories that involved shape-shifting dragons in parallel universes. Much to her dad’s chagrin, Gretch had recently taken to wearing capes—like a wizard…or a witch.
I wasn’t a science guy and I was pretty sure I’d forgotten anything other than basic math, and yet on some level, I understood Gretchen. I was a child of divorced parents who’d worked a ton, too. I’d taken refuge in sports, but expectations rose with every win and the pressure had been intense. My outlet had been food. I used to watch shows likeCake BossandIron Chefand imagine scenarios where I could be the best at something that would surprise my mom and my friends. I supposed that wish eventually came true, though not exactly the way I’d envisioned.
Unlike my mother, Reg and his ex-wife were in tune with their kids and a thousand percent supportive. They signed Rhys up for karate, baseball, flag football, and hockey while Gretchen joined math club, chess club, and spent one afternoon a week with me concocting outside-the-box donut delights. Today’s was blueberry with a lemon almond glaze, decorated with edible flowers.
“All right. Hit me with a fruit fact.”
