Chapter 12 #2
I get another plate, spoon out another piece of pie, then take the remainder of Luca’s and set them both in the toaster oven. Microwaving is not my thing, and I’m too impatient to stick the whole pie in the oven to heat it up, so toaster oven hack it is.
“I have a game for you. It’s more of a challenge, actually.”
“What’s that?” Luca crosses his arms, causing his shirt to ripple seductively.
Correction. I mean the muscle below. The shirt pulls tight, hugging his body in a way that makes me jealous of the fabric.
“I’m not sure we should get into anything dirty when your parents could walk in at any time and have probably set up secret cameras in here so they know if I step one foot out of line.
I’m still a little bit paranoid about the testicle pie. ”
I get the cream out of the fridge while the toaster oven ticks and buzzes. “That’s very clever. More bonus points.”
“The challenge is pie, isn’t it?”
We both watch the red glow radiate down on the slices of pie.
“We need to think it out. We’ll sit down.
It’s not really a standing type of conversation, anyway.
Plus, I want to enjoy this pie and savor it.
” I don’t mean to give him a look like I’m actually suggesting that I savor him, but somehow it happens.
My legs turn to jelly.
And he makes a noise low in his throat.
If the toaster oven didn’t ding in that exact second, literally saving us by a sort of bell, I’m sure we would have leaped like a pair of gazelles to crash into each other midair.
Clothes would have been ruined, and the kitchen would have needed scrubbing.
He’s right about my mom being able to walk in here at any time.
Technically, no. But also technically, yes.
What I said last night stands. The second I have my clothes off, there’s no stopping the freight train I’ll become. Or the rails. Ha. My brain is being all punny this morning. How adorable.
When the pie is done, I get it plated and douse it in cream. The heavy stuff. Yes, this is how I like my pie. Squishy, wet, without fancy whipped cream or extra sugar, and definitely without ice cream.
Luca follows me into the living room. This room hasn’t been remodeled recently. It’s still the same light hardwood flooring, but the furniture is different, though. My parents splurged on leather couches a few years ago, even after knowing full well that the cats would scratch the shit out of them.
It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. There are cat posts all around the room, including cat houses, tents, beds, and hammocks. But are any of the cats in or on them? No. Every single one of them, minus Jack, is in here. And they’re sprawled out on the couches, top and bottom.
Luca takes that in for a second and laughs. “I think the only available spot is the chair over there.”
“Great. I’d love to sit in your lap.”
“Dulcie,” he warns.
“Don’t worry about boner problems. It’s not like I’m going to turn feral and tear off your clothes if I feel your erection pressing into my ass.”
“Garp.” He makes the noise, but making the noise is pretty much saying the word.
I change my mind as soon as we sit down. It’s incredibly hard to focus on pie or anything else I was going to say when I’m sitting on Luca’s lap, and along with his hard cock throbbing against the backs of my thighs, every single muscle in his legs is more than apparent.
Pie? What pie?
Two minutes after we’re seated, the cat exodus happens. One by one, they vacate the couches and slowly make their way over. Charlie, Dan, Ozzie, Orion, Freckles, and Swift end up on the top of the chair, the arm rests, and right in my lap.
While I’m still trying to eat my pie.
“This gives new meaning to hair on everything,” Luca comments wryly.
But he doesn’t tell me to shoo the cats away. Instead, he sits perfectly still and lets us all just pile right on top of him.
Be still, my heart.
Is there anything more attractive than a man who will turn himself into a skeleton to avoid disturbing a super cute, cuddly, warm, sleeping cat?
I finally take a second bite of my pie. “Mmm. You guys are brilliant. This is incredible.”
“That’s because it’s your favorite.”
I curl around as much as possible without dislodging cats.
Freckles still shifts, shoving her fuzzy bottom end and wildly bushy tail right into my face and mouth.
I spit it out, but that only causes her to back up harder, pressing her side right against my nose.
I try to readjust her before I suffocate.
She parks herself right on top of my plate, her hair soaking up cream and berry juice.
She’s a white cat. A Siamese tortie with mostly white fur and the most amazing blue eyes.
“It tastes different when it was made with love.”
I pick Freckles up and move her above Luca’s head, setting her down next to Swift.
We got them a month apart, and they love each other.
No one plays like Swift, though, so of course she takes a swipe at Freckles, who takes a swipe back.
Both cats leap clear off the chair, giving us a good view of their furry undercarriage along the way, and go careening around the living room.
“Does that happen often?”
I grunt-laugh as I lean forward to try to set my plate on the coffee table. There’s now more cat fur in that pie than is safe for human consumption. I don’t have the same ability to cough up a hairball the way they do.
“Usually at four in the morning,” I reply.
Luca offers me a bite of his pie, feeding it to me off his fork.
He doesn’t shove it in my face, as fun as that would be.
He’s all business and gentlemanly behavior.
Don’t get me wrong. Chivalry is also hot as fuck.
“But about pies made with love tasting better… I know this was about you and my dad. Mission Mend Bridges, but now that you’re here, the pie magic could come back. ”
“I have no magic.”
It sounds more like a question than ever. My heart throbs in my chest, the steady beat filtering something brand new through me. It’s become quite clear to me that I learn something new about Luca every single day, and it causes me to fall harder. And harder.
One day, I’m going to fall completely in love with him.
“Maybe not real magic, but you do have creativity and a fuckton of experience. You’re a master freaking chef, and you’re master marvelous. You’re a great kisser too.” When saying the last part, I wriggle on his lap a little. His eyes practically cross.
We finish off his pie, and I squirm again, this time to take his plate from him and put it on the table beside mine.
“That has nothing to do with pie.” His voice sounds at least eight octaves higher. Or I mean notes. Maybe I mean octaves.
I should probably get off his lap. It’s not conducive to thinking.
My brain is shorting out, and my body is a twenty-foot-high bonfire.
My friend’s dad used to make those kinds of fires.
He’d do a yard clean-up of branches, the old tree fort, the deck that needed replacing, paperwork for the year that just couldn’t be trusted to the trash…
it all got piled on. It’s not a great idea, but I didn’t think about it much as a kid.
We both loved how cool it was that the flames almost touched the sky.
The neighbors called the cops and the fire department.
Several times. Did that deter Jenny’s dad?
No, it did not. The bonfire is still an annual tradition.
“You want me to come up with an award-winning pie,” Luca states blandly, drawing my attention back to competitions and the bakery.
And him.
“Not just one. I want to enter all the different categories.” I hold up my fingers and start ticking them off.
“Savory. Fruit. Cream. We should come up with something so new and different that even if we don’t win, so what?
It will get everyone talking about the bakery anyway.
We can be creative. It’s like an artist with a blank canvas. Exciting as heck.”
This is the first time Luca has appeared truly doubtful all morning. But it’s not for himself. It was a delight this morning to see more quiet confidence and fewer shadows chasing over his eyes.
“You think your dad and I can work together to do something like that?” Luca voices out.
I tip my face to him like I’m a struggling seedling and he’s the sun. He notices but doesn’t wince or protest. Instead, he leans forward until our noses are touching.
Ever tried to have a serious conversation nose-to-nose with someone? The next time things take a turn, give it a try. It adds a whole different dimension.
I can’t stop smiling, and I’m sure it looks ridiculous to him, all blown out of proportion like this.
“We’ll all be fine. It’ll just take a while for it to sink in.
The fact that you’re back. All the years we’ve lived.
You and me. The pie competition is in mid-July, so we have time.
Not a lot of time, but time enough. You can’t tell me you don’t hear the call of the pie.
It’s in you, lying dormant. I’m here to call out to it, to whisper it back into being. ”
“Like a waterfinder,” he deadpans.
“That’s right.”
I wriggle again, working my legs over the armrest, right next to Ozzie.
The lanky orange cat opens one orange eye, blinks at me, then stretches out both paws to capture my leg.
He digs his claws in and leaves them there while he goes back to sleep.
It’s nice to be needed like that. Now that my legs invaded his space, he’s not letting me go.
I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to go there yet, but I don’t want to keep my thoughts from Luca. Even if they’re not secrets, I want to be open with him.
“I didn’t sleep at all last night,” I confess. “I was too busy thinking about this and trying to put it all together. Pies. My parents. Us.”
“So when you said coffee this morning with your mom…”
“I actually meant three espresso shots,” I say.