CHAPTER 19 #2
She gasped, mock-offended. “It does matter. Presentation matters. Extra effort matters. If I’m going to do this, I want to win.”
I nodded, unwilling to argue, trying to hide the grin that threatened to break through at the seriousness of her expression. “Okay, then. Top it is.”
We set to work. The filling went into the pot, the smell of sugar and fruit thickening in the air.
She rolled dough with slow precision, tongue peeking at the corner of her mouth as she tried to keep it even.
I couldn’t help but grin. When she wasn’t looking, I tapped the end of her nose with flour.
She gasped, rearing back, her eyes going wide.
“I can’t believe you just did that!” she exclaimed.
“It’s just a little flour.” I dotted more across her chin.
She yelped, smacked at me and missed, landing a full palm of flour across my cheek instead. Her grin went wide, eyes bright with mischief at the mess she’d made.
“Are you kidding me?” I muttered.
“It’s just a little flour.” She laughed, already backing away.
“No, that’s a lot of flour,” I said as I streaked my hand across my powdered cheek.
“No—this is a lot of flour,” she shot back, smacking me harder with another puff that exploded between us.
I flicked a bit of flour her way. She flung some back, and in seconds the counter looked like the aftermath of a blizzard. We laughed, both of us breathless.
The laughter tapered off, leaving us both trying to catch our breath. I dragged a sleeve across my cheek, still dusted white. “Maybe we should clean this up before May comes in and finds us and her kitchen, like this,” I said.
Blanche stepped in closer, hand lifting with a kind smile. “You got the worst of it—let me help.” Her fingers hovered as she brushed my face lightly, smudging away some of the streak. She laughed under her breath, softer now. “You look like a ghost.”
It had started as a stupid impulse, just trying to crack the trepidatious nerves I’d felt radiating from her. But now…
Something in the air shifted. Her hand lingered for a moment.
My own rose instinctively to her waist, steadying her as she leaned close.
Our eyes locked, and this time neither of us looked away.
We closed the distance between us slowly, silently.
I stared at the flour dusted across her cheek and lashes, giving her the look of a stone angel left to weather, fragile but eternal.
She was strangely beautiful at this moment, and we just stayed there.
Then whatever space that had existed between us fell, until our mouths found each other—soft, unplanned, but charged. And we kissed.
Her mouth was softer than I’d imagined…warm, tasting faintly of sugar and spice from the berries we’d tried earlier.
Since I met her, I’d told myself I was imagining it, the pull between us.
But the instant our lips met, every denial fractured.
The anticipation that had gnawed at me broke open into something hungrier, deeper.
A rush hit my mind and blood—not just want but recognition, like some part of me had been waiting for this without admitting it.
It was a hunger that lived in both halves of me, starved for her and finally sated in that single sealed kiss.
For a heartbeat, I let myself fall into it. Into her.
The moment barely had time to deepen before the pot hissed sharply behind us.
The filling bubbled over, spitting and smoking where it hit the stove’s hot iron.
Moonshade berries were volatile—too much heat, wrong timing, and they soured quickly.
We broke apart, coughing, waving smoke out of our faces.
“Damn!” she muttered as I yanked the pot off. The smell was acrid and bitter.
The front door creaked open, and there was May, arms folded, frowning like she already knew. “My life is full of right timings for all the wrong moments,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose at the smoke.
Blanche groaned, burying her face in her hands. I carried the ruined mess outside, dumping it far past some hedges way off to a side. May called after us, “Maybe we ought to patent that concoction. Sell it as a deterrent—keep critters away for days.”
Blanche looked defeated with her pink-stung lips. “Now what?” she muttered.
May clucked her tongue. “Oh, toughen up, girl. That’s criticism of the filling, not of you personally. That’s the problem with folks nowadays—bruise too easy. Look at it this way: It can only get better from here. Unless”—she eyed the smoldering stove—“you burn the cabin down. That would be worse.”
Blanche finally cracked a smile, shoulders loosening. “Even with my grandma’s recipe book, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Perfect pie takes time,” May said, matter-of-fact. “Like all things.”
I leaned against the counter. “Problem is it’s not the season yet. Berries are tart right now. Won’t be ready for another few months.”
Blanche looked between us. “Well, is there anywhere else we can find berries? To practice baking with?”
Then an idea hit me, and I straightened. “Up for an adventure?”
Her lips curved. She looked shy in the aftermath of our kiss—her cheeks and lips, still flushed, were a quiet reminder of it. “What kind of adventure?”
“The fun kind. There’s a patch I haven’t picked since last season. A bit far, but there should be plenty.”
May grinned. “Sounds promisin’. Go t’morra. That’ll give me time to clean up this mess.”