by Lee, Nadia
She dashes to the wall. Smiling at her enthusiasm, I scarf down more bacon and grab another cup of coffee. What could she have ordered to make her so buoyant?
She returns with a couple of paper bags. I grab them from her because they look heavy. And I’m right. They must be packed with bricks.
“What are these?” I say, setting them on the counter and peeking inside. I spot a bag of peaches on top. “You didn’t have to buy groceries. I would’ve taken care of it.”
“I can’t ask you to buy something when I’m the one who’s going to eat it,” Erin says with a big, contagious smile.
“As long as it’s mostly broccoli and cauliflower, you can have it all,” I joke. They’re Mom’s favorite. Dunno why.
“Haha. Nope. I’m not a making broccoli and cauliflower pie.”
“That sounds just…disgusting.” Anything she bakes is going to be awful, but even more so when the ingredients are cruciferous abominations.
“I know.” She laughs, taking out stuff from the bags and putting it away, leaving a few things on the counter. “Don’t worry. I’m making something else.”
Wait, did she just pull out onions? And Brussels sprouts? “You sure that’s how you want to spend your Saturday?” I ask, doing my best not to sound desperate. Women get suspicious when men start sounding desperate. “Maybe you want to do something else?”
“Like what?”
“Watching standup comedy on Netflix together?” I’ve seen all of them, but I don’t mind watching them again. And acting like all the jokes are totally new.
Her lips purse.
“Or we could go shopping.” That’d be better than whatever she’s planning to make. Safer too, since we’ll be far from the kitchen and oven. What a fantastic idea.
She shakes her head with a rueful smile. “I know how much you hate shopping. You don’t have to sacrifice your Saturday for me like that.”
“It would not be a sacrifice.” I raise three fingers in the air. “Scout’s honor.”
“You weren’t a scout, were you?”
“Yes. Always prepared.” But there is no preparation for Erin’s cooking.
She pats my shoulder. “I promise I’m not going to spend my entire weekend doing more training. It’s just good to keep myself busy, you know? And I want to get through those baking videos you bought me.”
Oh, fuck. I should’ve known they’d come back to haunt me. It seemed like a great idea to gift her a set on my birthday. Contrary to what she thinks, they were really gifts for me…except if her chocolate lava cake was any indication, I shouldn’t have bothered. Wonder if they come with a money-back guarantee…
“You really don’t have to,” I say, mustering every ounce of earnestness I own. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you return those videos and exchange them for something else?”
Her eyebrows pinch together, creating vertical lines between them. “Like what?”
I grasp for something that won’t hurt too much. “Music appreciation?”
She laughs. “I already appreciate music. Besides, it’ll be fun. According to the recipe, it won’t take that long, and we can share afterward.”
My eyebrows almost hit my hairline. “Share…?”
She holds up an admonishing finger. “I haven’t forgotten the way you hoarded the chocolate lava cake I made you.”
“Hahaha. Oh yes. Right. The cake.” The one I spared her from and discreetly threw away before leaving the office.
She regards me with a smile. “It’s okay. I don’t hold it against you. I know how much you love dessert.”
“I do.” My gaze falls on a bunch of junk mailers on the counter. The top one is promoting a new bakery, and I grasp it like it’s a sign from the universe. “Hey, why don’t we check out Bobbi’s Sweet Things? Look. It’s supposed to be really good.” At least nothing there is poisonous or painful.
“Sure. We can do that later today if you’re still in the mood.”
All right. I’m a man enough to accept that there’s no way for me to change her mind. “What are you going to make?” Don’t say onion cake. Don’t say onion cake. My gaze falls on the Brussels sprouts. Or Brussels sprout pie.
“Peach cobbler. It looked really good in the screenshot. I’ve never made one before, but according to the description, it’s going to create a ‘sweet, juicy dessert full of succulent fruit that bursts with flavor.’” She beams at me.
But it only strikes terror in my heart.
“Doesn’t that sound just divine?” she asks.
“Heavenly.” There’s gotta be a way to fix this situation. Come on, David. Use your overeducated brain! “Hey, do you mind if I help you?”
“You don’t have to,” she says. “I know you have better things to do on a Saturday.”
I give her my most convincing smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing’s more important than helping you bake.” Seriously. Nothing. The heat death of the universe is not more important.
Her smile doubles in wattage, and my entire system short-circuits. Jesus, for a smile like that, I can tolerate almost anything, including death cobbler.
“Thanks, David,” she says.
She sets up her laptop with the baking video and hits play.
I go over to the sink and start washing peaches like the pastry chef instructor says.
“So. Why do you bake?” I ask, as I pat the fruit dry. I’m genuinely curious. She has to know she’s terrible. Nobody can be that delusional. And she hasn’t improved one bit since she started the baking course.
“It’s an exercise to keep your mind clear and functioning. My mom said that people with muddied minds and hearts can’t do it.”
That’s…very sweet of her mom. My mom said cooking is always done out of love, because how can you make anything for your family if you don’t love them?
But it’s too bad that Erin’s mom also forgot to tell her to quit if the end results don’t improve. There are so many ways to exercise your mind, like crossword puzzles or meditation. Or even the free online training courses Sweet Darlings offers.
Erin follows instructions from the chef in the video. I hover over her to make sure she is actually doing what she’s supposed to, but my phone rings.
“You should answer that,” she says, measuring out sugar.
“It can wait.”
“Come on. I don’t need your help adding sugar.”
Oh, I think you do. “I just want to be sure I learn how to make peach cobbler. My mother really likes it.” Is my nose starting to grow?
My phone goes off again. Argh!
“Sounds like something’s important,” Erin says. “I’m fine. And we can do it again together later if you want. I’d love to make your mom a peach cobbler.”
Shit. I can’t think of a clever reason why she shouldn’t, other than the truth. And the damned phone won’t quit ringing.
I run to the living room to snatch it off the charger. “Yes?” I snarl as I walk back to the kitchen.
“Why, how lovely to talk to you, dear. I love getting snapped at. Are you still in bed?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, tilting my head heavenward. “Mom, what is it? I’m helping Erin with something.”
“Good for you. It’s important for a couple to bond before the wedding.”
“Exactly,” I say in my most agreeable voice, hoping she doesn’t notice the great effort I’m exerting not to terminate this call immediately so I can devote one hundred percent of my attention to what Erin’s doing in the kitchen. She’s moving back and forth between the bowl with the peaches and the cabinets and the pantry way too fast. What is she grabbing and dumping over the peaches? Looks like sugar… But I can never be sure with—
“…visit you this weekend, but your dad said I should wait until next week,” Mom is saying. “Give you some warning, in case you have something planned.”
“What are you talking about? You weren’t going to visit at all.” Or was she?
“I know, but I just can’t
wait. I want to meet Erin.”
“Mom, you’ve already met her. Several times.” Erin and I don’t need to see her before the party. It’ll just be having to lie one extra time. I can deal with it, but it’s going to be stressful for Erin. And she doesn’t deal with stress very well. Don’t need her go pale and sick again.
“Oh, I know, but that was when she was just your assistant. Now she’s your fiancée. Not the same thing at all.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay. So you want to see her now, is that it?”
“Yes. Before the party. I know both of you are coming, I just… I’m feeling impatient. Do you know Jan’s having morning sickness?” Her sigh bristles with envy. “She pukes every evening. It’s beautiful.” She’s now sniffling.
“I’m pretty sure Jan doesn’t think it’s beautiful.” Or Matt.
“Anyway, I’m coming next weekend. If you want anything special, just let me know. Or better yet, I can make it in your kitchen. And when you pick me up from the airport, don’t just come alone—bring Erin along. And let me know what she likes so I can bring the right present. Love you, hon!”
“Love you, Mom.” I hang up, then press my forehead with a corner of my phone.
“Everything okay?” Erin asks.
“Yes.” I lift my head and give her a reassuring smile.
She shuts the oven door. “You don’t sound completely okay.”
I sigh. “It was my mom. She’s visiting next weekend.” I say it with all the apology in my heart.
“She is?” Erin squeaks.
“She wants to see you. I couldn’t stop her. I’m sorry.”
“But why?” Erin’s voice has gone up two octaves.
“She can’t wait. She’s too excited.” I go to the counter and see that it’s empty. “Where’s the cobbler?”
“In the oven.” She gestures over her shoulder. “Didn’t you see me put it in?”
“It’s already in the oven?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I thought there were more steps!” Now I’m not going to get a chance to make sure it tastes okay.
“Well, there weren’t. Now we wait for half an hour.” She beams up at me. “If you want, we can watch something on Netflix like you wanted. Wait for the timer to go off.”
I force a smile and hope it looks genuine. We sit in front of the TV and watch something Erin picks from Netflix. I can’t concentrate, though. This must be how a defendant feels, waiting for the jury to return with a verdict.
An interminable amount of time passes. The ticking of the big clock on the wall, usually unnoticed, commands a very large amount of my attention.
Ding!
The instant the timer pings, Erin is off the couch and running to the kitchen. I follow, trying not to drag my feet too much.
She pulls the cobbler out of the oven. It smells fine, unlike the chocolate lava cake she brought. And it’s bubbling like it’s supposed to. The top is the perfect shade of golden brown.
Maybe…maybe this won’t be too bad.
She places the pan on the cooling rack and pulls out a big serving spoon and two forks from a drawer. I bring two small bowls out of the cabinet and place them on the counter.
Smiling, she scoops the bubbling cobbler into them.
“Do we have any ice cream?” I ask.
“Oh shoot. I forgot to order that. We don’t…unless you have some in the freezer?”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. It’s still going to be good.” I hope. And maybe it will be good. I was helping her most of the time. So what if I got a little distracted talking to Mom for a few moments?
Optimistic, I take a small bite, while Erin looks at me with an expectant smile.
It’s all I can do to not wince. Jesus. It tastes like lemon! The recipe called for a dash of lemon juice…not a vat!
“Is it good?” she asks eagerly.
I don’t know how to answer without hurting her feelings. So I gesture for her to take a bite herself.
Chapter Thirty-One
David
With a smile, Erin digs her fork into the still-hot dessert, levers out a bite-sized piece and blows on it. Then she slips it into her mouth.
I wait for the sourness to hit her. Her face should scrunch any second now…
But no. She closes her eyes. “Mmm. Soooo good.”
Good? Is she kidding? Did they change the definition of the word while I wasn’t looking?
Except nothing in her expression says she’s messing with me. Her eyes are closed, her cheeks are going pink with pleasure and her lips are curved into a line of utter bliss.
Maybe she didn’t mix the sugar well, so it all went on one side of the cobbler—hers—while I got none…
The juices from the dessert glisten on her mouth. I can’t help it: I lean forward, then lick it off to get a taste.
Her eyes fly open. Our gazes connect, her breath tickling my face like a feather. My taste buds vaguely register something just as tart as what I had only moments ago. But my senses say it’s not the same as the first bite. It’s more interesting, more delicious and lovely. The tip of my tongue prickles like an electric current is running through from there, all the way to my dick.
I go rock hard instantly. My heart thuds, undoubtedly trying to put the blood back into my brain, but it doesn’t work.
For three heartbeats, Erin and I stay frozen, our mouths only a hairsbreadth away. I don’t know if she moves or I do, but then our lips are touching, hers soft and pliant under mine. When she parts her mouth, I taste peach…and a sweetness that’s uniquely Erin.
My head is full of nothing but her smell, taste and softness. With a great effort, I refrain from pulling her closer. Instead, I grip the counter and kiss her with nothing but my mouth, giving her a chance to pull back if this isn’t what she wants, even as my body burns.
Her tongue strokes mine shyly. The tentative, inexpert licks are hotter than flames. My blood turns to fire. I let out a soft groan against her mouth.
Her hand is on my shoulder, her delicate fingers digging into the muscle. Yes, yes, yes. Touch me, touch me, touch me.
Her other palm lies against my cheek. The gesture is so tender and sweet. She kisses me a little more deeply and our mouths fuse. My heart is pounding so hard that she has to be able to hear it.
I don’t care if she’s my assistant, or that we’re fake engaged for non-romantic reasons. The only thing that matters is this kiss. The connection.
I don’t ever want this moment to end. Ever.
She moves closer. Her stomach brushes against my dick and a searing jolt rushes up my spine.
A gasp puffs out of her mouth. The hand on my cheek trembles. Then suddenly she takes half a step back and inhales shakily.
“Um.” She looks around like she can’t process what just happened. Her cheeks are crimson, and she wipes her hands on the apron. “Um… I… I don’t know what to say. Should I say something?” she says, almost to herself.
“Erin.” I cradle her jaw in my hand, the touch butterfly soft. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”
Her whole face is red now. “I didn’t mean to kiss you like that. Sorry.” Then she licks her mouth.
I clench my teeth to contain a groan. If she’s really sorry, she shouldn’t have licked her mouth like that. Because I want to do the same. Then kiss her all over. Then taste her where she’s the sweetest.
Get your mind out of the gutter, man.
“It takes two to kiss, and I’m not sorry,” I say.
She blinks, her eyes slightly glazed. “You’re not?”
“It’s impossible to be sorry about kissing a beautiful woman. I’m not going to start lying now.”
“Oh.” She pulls her lips in, looking half lost and half confused.
Her reaction tugs at me. Hasn’t anybody ever complimented her? Not even that fucking Fordham?
Regardless, she still looks a little lost, like a child who’s ventured too far from the safety of her home. She
chews on her lower lip for a while, the gears in her head turning the entire time.
I hope she’s not regretting what just happened. It was the most unexpectedly hot kiss ever. And I’ve had my share of experience with women.
“Um. I think it’s better if we have the rest of the cobbler later,” Erin says.
Disappointment swells, but I shove it down ruthlessly. At least she didn’t call it a mistake and retreat. “Good idea.” Then, because I’m not a total masochist, I add, “I’ll go get the ice cream.”
* * *
Erin
While David’s out, I put the peach cobbler away, my mouth still tingling. I put my hand to my lips, but that doesn’t do a thing to make the nerves there settle down. As a matter of fact, it just seems to make things worse, making the prickling sensation spread all through my body until I’m throbbing all over.
Oh my God.
Something in our relationship fundamentally shifted with that kiss. Nobody shares a kiss like that and goes back to a platonic boss-and-worker situation.
But is it wise to push our fake engagement to include a more physical aspect? What if things become messy and complicated? What if David finds out about my family history? Is he going to think I took advantage of him?
And his mother’s going to visit next weekend!
I cover my face with my hands and groan, the sound muffled against my palms. I just can’t process all this right now. It’s too overwhelming.
If I didn’t have any baggage, maybe I’d be jumping up and down with joy. What woman wouldn’t when a hot, attractive man wants her? But I’m not most women.
I sag against the kitchen counter and sigh. I have no idea what to do now.
Chapter Thirty-Two
David
For the rest of the weekend, Erin and I both pretend the kiss never happened. It’s not by my choice. She’s so skittish and awkward that if I push her, she’s going to freak out. Might even pack up and go back to her place.
I don’t want her to move out. To prevent her from even bringing it up, I tell her it’s going to be weird if she isn’t living with me anymore. “I know the paparazzi have lost interest, but Mom will definitely ask questions if she realizes you moved back home.”
