Chapter 16 #3
Then River reaches across me to grab more paper towels from the holder on the wall, and his arm brushes against mine.
I look up, and suddenly we’re very close.
Close enough that I can see the little flecks of gold in his eyes.
Close enough that I’m acutely aware of how good he smells even in the middle of this disaster.
“You have flour on your nose,” he says softly.
“I have flour everywhere.”
He reaches up and gently brushes his thumb across my nose. The touch is light, careful, and it sends electricity crackling through me.
We’re standing in his disaster of a kitchen, both of us covered in flour, and all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss him.
But I don’t. Because we’re taking things slow. And I’m scared. And I’m not even sure that last night wasn’t a mistake.
River’s hand drops back to his side, but his eyes are still on mine. “We should probably finish cleaning up.”
“Right. Yes. Cleaning.” I force myself to step back, to put space between us. “Definitely should do that.”
We get back to work, and this time I’m very careful not to brush against him or stand too close or do anything that might lead to another one of those charged moments.
By the time we’ve cleaned up the worst of the mess, twenty minutes have passed, and I’m behind schedule. But the kitchen is functional again, even if there’s still a light dusting of flour in places I’m sure we missed.
I turn to him. “Can I borrow a shirt? This one is kind of… covered.”
He raises one eyebrow. “You want to wear one of my shirts?”
My heart picks up speed, and I tell myself to stop it. I need a shirt for functionality. That’s all. “Please?”
River grins at me. “Follow me.”
I follow him through the house and up his stairs to a massive master bedroom. I stand at the door, waiting for him to grab me something to wear. Anything. I don’t care at all. This doesn’t mean anything.
River comes out of his closet with a hoodie. “I think this will fit you.”
I take it from him. “Thanks.”
He points down the hallway. “You can change in there.”
I nod and go to the bathroom. I quickly change into his hoodie.
The minute I pull it over my head I realize what a huge mistake I’ve made.
It smells like him. Dear heavens. I make my way back to the kitchen, ignoring the butterflies now assaulting me because I’m wearing River’s hoodie.
River joins me, his own shirt changed too.
“Okay.” I get back into chef mode and survey my ingredients, doing a mental inventory. “I lost some tahini, but I still have enough for the sauce. The pasta is salvageable. I can do this.”
“I have complete faith in you,” River says, and the sincerity in his voice makes my chest warm.
“Go.” I point toward the hallway. “Let me work. And this time, try not to distract me by being all... helpful and close and—” I stop myself before I say something I’ll regret. “Just go.”
He grins—that full, genuine smile that makes him look impossibly more attractive—and heads back toward his editing room.
I take a deep breath and get back to work. This time, I’m careful. Deliberate. I dice the garlic without incident. Halve the cherry tomatoes and get them in the oven to roast. Mix up the tahini sauce, adding extra lemon juice to brighten it up.
The brownies are more complex, but I’m in the zone now. I melt chocolate and butter, whisk in sugar and eggs, and carefully swirl in the remaining tahini to create beautiful marbled patterns. Into the oven they go.
By the time River reappears forty minutes later, I’ve plated two servings of perfectly composed tahini pasta, and the kitchen smells like roasted tomatoes and fresh herbs instead of disaster.
“Wow,” he says, taking in the plated dishes. “You did it.”
“Did you doubt me?”
“Never.” He sits down at his usual spot, and I join him. “Though I will admit, after the Great Flour Incident, I wasn’t sure how this was going to turn out.”
“We’re never speaking of the Great Flour Incident again.”
“Oh, we’re definitely speaking of it. Probably frequently.” He picks up his fork and twirls pasta onto it. “This is going in my top ten favorite Kiera moments.”
“You have a list?”
“I’m starting one now. It currently only has one entry, but it’s a strong entry.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling as I take my first bite of pasta. The sauce is creamy and rich, the tahini flavor balanced perfectly by the lemon and garlic. The roasted tomatoes add bursts of sweetness, and the fresh basil ties everything together.
It’s good. Really good. Despite everything that went wrong, I managed to create something I’m actually proud of.
River takes a bite and makes that sound—the one I’m starting to live for—where he closes his eyes and just savors it.
“This is fantastic,” he says. “Kiera, seriously. The sauce is perfect. It’s nutty but not overwhelming, and the roasted tomatoes add this depth of flavor that makes every bite interesting.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so.” He takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully.
“This is exactly the kind of dish that would impress competition judges. You took a potentially tricky ingredient, had a complete disaster in the middle of cooking, and still managed to create something restaurant-quality. That shows real skill and resilience.”
The praise makes my cheeks warm, but I don’t deflect it this time. I just let myself feel proud of what I accomplished.
When we finish the pasta, I bring out the brownies. River’s eyes light up when he sees the tahini swirls marbled through the chocolate.
“These look amazing.”
“Try one before you make declarations.”
He takes a bite, and his expression melts into pure bliss. “Oh wow. Kiera. These are—” He doesn’t finish, just takes another bite.
I try my own brownie, and I have to admit, they turned out just how I had hoped they would. Fudgy and rich, with the tahini adding this sophisticated depth that makes them feel special instead of just sweet.
“I can’t believe you made these after everything that happened,” River says, finishing his brownie and eyeing the pan like he’s considering seconds.
“Spite is a powerful motivator.” I grin at him. “The flour tried to defeat me. I couldn’t let it win.”
“Well, you definitely won.” He leans back in his chair, looking at me with something warm and appreciative in his eyes. “You’re really talented, Kiera. I hope you know that.”
“I’m starting to believe it,” I say quietly. And I mean it. Because despite the chaos and the disasters and the moment where I genuinely thought I’d ruined everything, I pulled it off. I created something good.
And maybe that’s what the competition will be like. Maybe things will go wrong, and I’ll have to adapt and push through anyway. But if I can turn the Great Flour Incident into a success, maybe I can handle whatever the judges throw at me.
River stands and starts gathering plates. “Come on. Let’s do dishes together.”
“I can handle it—”
“I know you can.” He’s already heading to the kitchen with his stack of plates. “But I want to help. Consider it payment for being part of the most entertaining cooking disaster I’ve ever witnessed.”
I follow him, shaking my head but smiling. And as we fall into our familiar rhythm of scraping off plates and putting them in the dishwasher, I think about how comfortable this has become. How easy it feels to be around him, even when I’m covered in flour and making a mess of everything.
How much I’m going to miss this when the competition is over and I don’t have an excuse to be here anymore. And if by some miracle I win and get a scholarship…
But I push that thought away and focus on the present moment.
On River’s laugh when I make a sarcastic comment about the “helpful” flour.
On the way our hands brush when he takes a plate from me, and how his hoodie is enveloping me in his smell.
On the warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with the brownies and everything to do with the man standing beside me.
For now, I’m not going to think about the future. This is enough.