15. 15
I t feels weird to be standing outside my bakery, barred from going in until the camera is set up inside to film Parker and me arriving. I’m used to being the one in charge here, and to have that stripped from me is leaving me feeling a bit on edge. Not only that, but I’ve also been without Zoey’s company in the down moments of the show.
When we all left the House of Desire mansion for our hometown dates, we knew we wouldn’t see each other again for the show until the elimination after the Desire Suite dates next week. As Parker leaves each hometown, he’ll either break up with the person, or ask them to join him back here in California for the Desire Suite dates.
While we all waited for Parker to join us at our homes, we were kept in local hotels with no one but a few production members to talk to. It’s been a boring few days.
The sound of a car door shutting grabs my attention and I turn toward the noise to see Parker moving through the parking lot. I haven’t seen him since last week’s elimination, leaving me, Leslie, Zoey, and Carmen as the final four. He walks toward me and something in my chest settles, and I realize how much I missed him.
We get the signal the cameras are ready, but I don’t care, as he takes me into his strong arms.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask him as he kisses my cheek in greeting, the cameras following the movement, I’m sure.
I want to grab his face and kiss him, but when his eyes flit to someone behind me for a split second, I keep my hormones under control.
“You’re not going to make me bake something difficult like a soufflé or something, are you?” he asks me, a small amount of trepidation on his face.
“I was going to have you make a custom eight-tier wedding cake.”
“Perfect. That’s definitely within my capabilities.”
“I figured as much,” I say, smiling at him, butterflies fluttering around in my chest. He nudges me with his shoulder as we turn toward the bakery. “I believe I have a promise to fulfill and I think it should take the form of cupcakes,” I say, reminding him of the group date from a few weeks ago.
“I was afraid you’d forgotten.”
“Never.”
The familiar weight of the door handle settles into my hand. Cool metal welcomes me home and I feel a lump in my throat. Baking is my favorite thing in the world and I have been missing it every day of this journey.
“Welcome to the Whimsical Whisk Bakery,” I say, pulling open the door.
The inside of my shop is spotless, and I can tell my family has worked tirelessly to get everything ready for this moment.
Not only is the space cleaned, but the pastries, cupcakes, and cookies look like they were put together with the exacting precision of a surgeon. A lump forms in my throat at the beauty. At the outward showing of love staring back at me.
“This is really nice,” Parker says.
“Thank you. It’s my baby.” He must hear the change in me, because his rough, warm hand grabs mine, squeezing.
“What’s your favorite thing to bake?”
Setting aside the emotions so I don’t cry on television, I look up at him, squeezing his hand back in thanks but not letting it go. “Out of the normal offerings? Or in general?”
“Mmm, both.”
“The cupcakes are my favorite of the usual fare.”
“They’d be mine, too. Really, I love anything cake based.” He smiles and my world stops for a moment.
“Other than that, I love making cakes where the person gives me creative freedom. Whatever flavor I want. Whatever decoration fits the theme they’re thinking. There’s nothing like losing yourself in designing something new and different. And picking flavors to go together? That’s my favorite thing. I don’t let it send me into a panic spiral anymore.”
Pulling on his hand, I lead him to the kitchen through the double doors behind my counter. When I walk into the space for the first time in weeks, I know I made the right choice with the rearranging I had the football players do that I won at the auction. I look around the space, seeing the efficiency of the setup.
Letting go of the stunning man’s hand, I move to the hook by the door and grab the two aprons hanging there, handing one to Parker. I try not to laugh as he settles the sunshine yellow fabric over his head, tying the ties around his back. The color is so bright and happy. It almost looks out of place on this man who has given off slightly sad vibes since the day I met him.
“What kind of cupcakes are we making today?” he asks.
“The crowd favorite S’more to Love cupcake.”
“That sounds amazing. I hope part of the baking process is taste testing the end result.”
“Quality control is always important, and if you’re a good boy I’ll make sure you have the best one in the batch,” I tease.
He cocks an eyebrow at me with a sexy smirk and I can feel my face heat.
“Guess I’ll need to be a good boy, then,” he says and I almost combust on the spot.
Clearing my throat, I begin moving around the kitchen. And talking. And talking. And talking some more. I get into the excitement of sharing my passion for baking, but Parker doesn’t seem to mind. He asks questions here and there, seeming to catalog the steps in his mind. I grab two of the bowls, handing them to him while I grab up the others.
“Why do you weigh everything instead of using measuring cups?” he asks, as I lead him over to the mixer.
“Precision. Depending on how you fill the measuring cup, there is variability in the amount of the ingredient you’re getting. If you weigh it, you’ll always be sure what you’re creating comes out the same every time. When someone comes into the Whimsical Whisk, it’s because they are craving something we create. I want it to taste the same every time.”
I pour both of my bowls into the mixing one, indicating Parker should do the same.
“That makes sense,” he says, pouring the sugar in with the flour.
Before I can say anything, he flips the switch to high and the beaters fling the dry ingredients all around. Lunging over, I flick the switch back to off, puffs of flour floating in the air. I look up at Parker and his face is covered in flour, his mouth hanging open.
“We don’t typically turn the mixer on high,” I say, laughing at his stunned face. “Or at least, not at this point.”
He turns to me and with the most sheepish grin I’ve ever seen. “Whoops.”
I don’t care the room is a mess. Happiness bubbles from deep within me at this man who exudes confidence despite being covered in flour.
“You have something on your face, right there,” I say pointing to one spot, with a giggle.
“You don’t say,” he answers, deadpan. “You have a little something right here,” he says, grabbing a handful of flour and lightly tossing it in my face.
“Rude,” I say, grabbing my own handful and flinging it at him. We pause for a moment, looking at each other, both of us a mess, until we break.
Handfuls of flour are flung as he chases me around the small room, but I grab up an empty cookie sheet, blocking his projectiles. He scoots closer to me, causing me to back up until I realize he has me pinned. My back presses against the wall while my chest rises and falls with my panting breaths. He stalks closer, the bowl of what remains of the sugar and flour in hand.
“Don’t you dare,” I say, holding up my cookie sheet in warning.
He moves closer, gabbing my wrist of the hand holding my only weapon, but with his body looming over me, I forget our game and drop the cookie sheet without a thought. The clattering doesn't even register with him this close to me.
Parker releases my wrist and trails his fingers up my arm until his hand is resting against my neck, his thumb stroking my jaw.
“You have some sugar just here,” he says before lifting his thumb to his mouth. His tongue flicks out, licking the sugar crystals from it, and my entire body warms. “Delicious.”
I can’t wait another second to kiss him. Kissing him is almost all I’ve been able to think about since our couple’s therapy session when he kissed my jaw. I fling my arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to meet mine. His thick arms wrap around me, pulling me against his body. He tastes of sweetness as my tongue traces his lips, asking for entrance which he gives.
My fingers find his hair band and tug it free, before fisting in the soft strands.
A moan escapes me and his hands move over my ass, squeezing, going down to my thighs, encouraging me to wrap my legs around him, which I do. Eagerly.
He grinds his impressive erection against my center, making me pant with desire.
“Parker, I need more,” I say against his lips, and like a man starving, he shoves his tongue back into my mouth, tasting me with a white-hot passion as he carries me to the workbench we had been using.
He sets me on the edge before swiping all the instruments and bowls to the floor, causing an even bigger mess. The naked hunger in his eyes as he moves to capture my mouth again while he shoves my legs further apart, settling between my welcoming thighs, pushes any thoughts of cleaning from my mind.
Movement catches my attention over his shoulder and I pull back before his lips can make contact, green eyes questioning.
“Parker,” I say, panic setting in as the camerawoman moves to get a better angle of our desperation. My need for him is making me forget we are always being filmed.
He looks over his shoulder, looking for what upset me, and his face darkens.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he yells, anger thundering in his voice.
My body tightens at the volume while the woman squeaks and scurries from the room, leaving us alone even though she’ll probably get in trouble for doing so.
“Anastasia, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled, but the thought of them recording you made me panic a bit.” He leans his forehead down, settling it against mine as his hands move up and down the outside of my thighs, calming instead of heating. “Plus, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I first saw you and they ruined it.”
“I have thought of almost nothing else in weeks,” I whisper, anxiety calming inside me. “And they didn’t ruin it.”
It’s true. I don’t regret this moment of passion, even though it will be aired for millions to see. There’s no way the footage won’t be used. It’s too good. Too hot. But I couldn’t have lasted another day without his lips on mine .
He pulls back, looking at my face to see if I’m telling the truth or simply what he’s wanting to hear.
“It was a fantastic kiss,” I tell him, grinding myself against him for a moment to emphasize my point.
“The best I’ve ever had.” His fingers dig into my ass as he grips my hips tightly, grinding himself against my soaking core so hard, I’m afraid he’s going to feel my arousal through his pants. As he hits the perfect spot, making me gasp, I can see he’s considering throwing caution to the wind and continuing what we had started. It would only take a second to free him and pull my panties to the side before he could plunge his thick cock into me.
But the thought of someone hearing him give me pleasure, or worse, capturing it on camera, stops me.
I reach up, cupping his cheek as I give him a soft kiss. He gives me a small smile and steps back so I can shimmy from the table.
Looking around the kitchen, I cringe.
“This is going to be fun to clean,” I say. There is flour and sugar everywhere . I don’t think a single surface was untouched in our fight, but even still, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
We move around the room grabbing up all the different bowls and spoons, dumping them in the sink to be washed. I go into the cleaning closet to fill up the mop bucket for Parker while I grab as many cleaning cloths and paper towels as I can hold for myself. Making relatively quick work of the job, we clean the entire space until it’s sparkling once more.
“Does this mean I won’t get a cupcake today?” Parker asks, as I take his messy apron from him and throw them both in the basket to be washed .
I grab his hand and pull him through the double doors back into the front of the shop, the cameras waiting for us. Pushing open the case, I grab one of the cupcakes we were going to bake before our food fight.
“For you,” I say presenting it to him as I slide the glass closed once more.
He takes it from my hand and breaks it in half, holding a piece out to me.
“I think we both deserve a treat,” he says as I take it.
The cake is delicious if not, ever so slightly stale, telling me it was probably made yesterday so there wouldn’t be any rushing this morning. But even despite that, Parker groans as he takes a bite.
“This is amazing,” he says, giving me a kiss. The nonchalant gesture makes it seem like we’ve been trading kisses for far longer than the hour since our first, but I’m not upset by the easy comfortability.
“You’re going to have to make these for my birthday every year until I die,” he says, shoving the rest of the cake into his mouth, chewing greedily.
“Deal,” I say as I grab his hand and lead him from the shop with the thought of years of making him birthday cakes glowing in my chest.