Page 81
He held her hand the entire time.
They walked through the doors of Brookfield Place and up the stairs, leading to the entrance of the Institute of Culinary Education. Her mouth dropped open as Kevin showed the concierge the tickets on his phone, and they were led over to a set of elevators.
He curled a hand around her waist and kissed the top of her head. “Is touching you like this okay?” he whispered.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because I wasn’t sure how far we were taking this whole hookup game.”
She looked into his eyes. “Who said it was a game?”
The elevator dinged and the doors flew open. Jess stepped out of his grasp with a smirk, watching the way Kevin rubbed his neck and dipped his head low to hide his smile.
A student near the door pointed them to their classroom. Jess snatched Kevin’s hand and pulled hard as they stepped into the industrial kitchen.
The instructor stood by the door with a big smile. “Welcome to the Institute of Culinary Education! Please take a folder and an apron and find an open seat.”
Jess froze when she looked down at the aprons. “Oh.”
She felt Kevin place a hand on her shoulder, his lips grazing her ear. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I didn’t forget.”
She turned to him and looked down at a familiar denim apron in his hand.
Jess grinned, and without thinking about who was watching or what they thought, she got on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. “You know me so well.”
He blushed as he unfolded her apron and placed it over her head.
The two walked side by side in the early afternoon sun hours later. Jess took a bite of the Portuguese egg tart in her hand, the other wrapped around Kevin’s waist. His arm was slung around her shoulders, and he was holding a paper bag with their leftover pastries from class. She held up the pastry to his mouth and he took the last flaky bite, licking her fingers and humming in approval.
“Think you’ll want to sell pasteis de nata at the bakery?” he asked.
“Maybe, we’ll see,” she said. “This feels like a treat that would be great for fall or winter. I have more things I want to do with fruit before they’re out of season.”
“Like what?”
“Peach streusel muffins, triple berry crisp, lemon tartlets—”
“I love it when you talk pastry to me.”
She bumped his hip. “Where are you taking me now?”
“Lunch. There’s this place in Little Italy that apparently sells the best meatballs in the city, but there might be a line…if you don’t mind getting back home a little later.”
She leaned her cheek on his shoulder as they came to a stop at an intersection, waiting to walk across the street. “I don’t mind.”
Kevin stepped aside from the bustling city goers and slipped a hand behind her neck. He pulled her close, brushing his nose against hers. His thumb traced behind her ear and down her neck. She sighed and hooked a finger through the belt loop of his jeans, pulling his body closer.
“I’m usually not one to crave physical touch, but I missed this,” she admitted. “I missed your hands.”
“I missed touching you,” he whispered back, pressing his forehead against hers. “Can I touch you like this when we get home?”
She looked into his eyes. Her head screamed no, running through the ticker tape of all the reasons why she shouldn’t allow this. She finally felt independent, making decisions for herself and no one else. She had a bakery to run and a dog to take care of and a car to repair and money to save so she could eventually get her own place. For the first time in nine years, she felt free.
And yet…her heart was telling her yes. To take hold of what felt good, to be with a person who made her feel alive.
“Yes,” she exhaled. “Yes, I want that.”
He grinned as he leaned all the way in, then pressed the most precious kiss to her lips. This kiss wasn’t desperate with want like last night, but slow. Caring. Patient. Lovely.
