Chapter 17 Lily
LILY
Wednesday
From the sticky consistency of the dough, I quickly realized I needed more flour. My gaze flicked from my dough-covered hands up to the bag of flour on the shelf above me. Unless I washed my hands, there was no way I’d be getting that down without a mess.
I was about to make my way to the sink, but Gabe’s voice stopped me. “You forgot your apron.”
I looked down and realized he was right. In my excitement to get the dough prepped, I must’ve completely forgotten.
We were checking another item off the list today: making a holiday recipe for fun. When I found out Gabe had never made or frosted Christmas sugar cookies, the decision was made for us. The dough needed to chill for a few hours before we could use our festive cookie cutters.
I looked at my dough-covered hands again. “Would you be able to help me get my apron on?” I asked, looking at him over my shoulder. “And grab the bag of flour while you’re at it? I’d get it myself, but—”
“Yeah, no problem,” Gabe answered before I finished explaining myself.
He came up behind me, his body warm and his clean, fresh scent overpowering my senses. It didn’t matter that I had a chocolate peppermint loaf baking in the oven. The cocoa and peppermint had nothing on Gabe.
He stepped behind me, lifting my hair off my neck and placing the neck loop of the apron over my head.
It wasn’t until right now that I realized how intimate my request was—and how close Gabe was to me.
I couldn’t see him, since my back was toward him, but I could feel his touch.
On my hair. Gently grazing my neck as he fixed the loop.
And, now, on my waist as he wrapped the too-long string around me.
“How do you like it?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
I gulped. “Wh-what?”
“How do you like your apron tied?”
“Oh,” I said on an exhale, not wanting to admit where my mind had gone. “I wrap it around twice and then tie it off in the back.”
He hummed in response and followed my instructions, silence filling the space between us again. But it wasn’t just silence that was consuming me. All I could focus on was his low, steady breathing. The hot air fanned my neck, and I felt my cheeks getting hot. Thank goodness he couldn’t see my face.
“All set,” Gabe finally said. His voice was steady and calming, which was such a contrast to the emotions whirling through my mind. Emotions I needed to get a grip on. “Is this the bag of flour?”
I nodded with a hum of confirmation, worried if I spoke he would hear the shakiness in my voice.
I expected Gabe to reach for the flour while standing next to me, not while standing behind me. I gulped as he reached forward. My body and mind weren’t on the same page, because my body was weak.
My body wanted to lean into his strong chest, press myself against him to see how we’d fit. Like a puzzle? Or like two people who had no business being together?
My mind, on the other hand, wanted to create as much distance between us as possible—and ultimately, my mind won out. I leaned forward against the counter, trying to create separation between us.
“Sorry,” he muttered against my ear as he reached forward and wrapped his large hand around the bag. The veins in his forearm flexed, and I nearly passed out right then and there. Here lies Lily. Death by hand and forearm flexing while grabbing flour. Was that a good way to go or pathetic?
“It’s fine,” I assured, although my voice came out more like a squeak, several octaves too high.
Gabe set the bag on the counter and stepped to the side. I was finally able to let out a heavy exhale.
“Would you be able to open the bag and pour a decent amount on the dough?”
He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Should I get a measuring cup or something?”
When I looked over at him, I saw how deeply he was contemplating, and I couldn’t help but roll my lips to hide my smile. “It’s not rocket science,” I assured him. “You can eyeball it. I promise it’ll be fine.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, but the corner of his mouth tipped up. “Alright…if you say so.”
There was a soft rustling as Gabe uncurled the top of the bag. And then a cough.
I stepped back as a soft cloud of white dust billowed, settling around him like a snowstorm.
“Oh my gosh.” I stifled a laugh. This time, I stepped over to the sink, quickly washing and drying my hands so I could help him clean up. “It’s everywhere. I’ve…never seen that happen before.”
When he turned toward me—the flour covering parts of his face in a fine powder and the top of his dress shirt—I couldn’t hold my laugh in.
Gabe reached up, trying to dust the flour off his shirt…which didn’t quite work. He spread the flour over the fabric, making it worse.
“Here, let me—” I stopped him. First, I handed him a clean towel so he could wipe his face. Then, I grabbed another clean dish towel and wet it with cold water. I gently pinched the fabric, trying to shake off any loose flour, before blotting where it had stuck most.
“You promised it would be fine,” he grumbled, wiping the powder off his face. There was amusement in his tone. He didn’t seem angry or frustrated.
“I thought it would!” I let out a giggle. I lifted my head, peering up at him, which was a mistake given how close we were. How easily I could see the golden flecks in his eyes, the light stubble grazing his jaw. “I told you, this has never happened to me.”
“Hm…never?” he hummed.
I looked down and moved to another spot on his shirt. I shook my head to answer.
“It would be a shame if it happened right now, huh?”
I furrowed my brows, not following. “I mean, I guess. But the bag is already open.”
When I looked back up at Gabe, the flicker of amusement on his face gave his plans away immediately.
“You wouldn’t…” My eyes widened as I prepared to take a step back.
Gabe was faster.
I hadn’t realized it, but his ammunition was already loaded. He tossed a small handful of flour in my direction, creating a cloud between us.
I waved my hand in front of my face but didn’t want to waste more time. Instead, I lunged toward the bag, wanting to get my own fistful of flour to toss at him. I succeeded, but so did he, both of us lobbying a throw.
Flour was flying everywhere, the white dust creating a thin layer on the floor and counters.
I wasn’t thinking about the mess or how we’d have to clean it up.
I was simply letting myself enjoy the moment with him.
I used the back of my forearm to wipe my forehead, eyes flicking between the bag and Gabe. If I could get one more throw…
“You’ve started a war, you know,” I informed him, my cheeks hurting from my wide smile.
His lips spread into a smile that matched mine. “Oh, I know. Knew you were a fighter from the moment I met you.”
I quickly reached to grab more flour and tossed it at Gabe, but it came at a cost. As I prepared to run to the other side of the kitchen, Gabe’s arm wrapped firmly around my waist— like when we’d first met. He hauled me against his chest to keep me in place.
My breath hitched at how his broad chest pressed against my back. How the heat radiated from his body. While my mind might have won earlier, my body won this time. My feet stayed firmly planted. I glanced at him over my shoulder.
“Should we call a truce?”
His grip on my waist lessened—and I knew I shouldn’t have been disappointed, but a small, small part of me was—enough for me to turn around to face him.
My lower back pressed up against the edge of the counter, my hands wrapping around it.
He moved his arm from around my waist, setting both of his hands on the counter to box me in.
Our hands weren’t touching, but if I moved my fingers an inch, I’d feel his skin on mine.
If I leaned forward, my chest would be pressed against him.
The smell of his cologne—warm, fresh, and masculine—once again invaded my senses. There was some sweetness beneath the heat, too. I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but I didn’t think I’d be able to forget his scent even if I tried.
I swallowed, finally looking up at him. His eyes were already on me, watching closely and intently.
“What do you say?” His voice was low, as if he was inviting me to lean forward. Tempting me.
I was in a trance. I had to be, right?
“About what?” I asked, my throat dry.
“About the truce.”
“But,” I started, my eyes looking over to the bag of flour then back to him, “you have me right where you want me.”
He hummed. “Not quite where I want you.”
I parted my lips, about to ask him where it was that he wanted me exactly when a sharp, harsh burnt smell filled the air, breaking me out of whatever haze I was in. “The chocolate peppermint loaf!” I exclaimed, slipping past him and quickly moving toward the oven.
I grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the door open, a plume of smoke exiting. The heat fanned my face as I pulled out the loaf. The top of it was burnt to a crisp. I set it on top of the stove, turned off the oven, and let out a sigh. Luckily, the fire alarm hadn’t gone off.
But what was I doing? That was the closest I’d gotten to Gabe, and I nearly burned the kitchen to the ground. Dramatic, maybe, but also true. It was a chocolate loaf this time, but what about next time I got caught up in the moment with him?
He likely had the same thought, because he was cleaning the flour off the counter.
“I’m going to get a broom,” I said and didn’t wait for his response before I darted to the supply closet.
I found the broom within seconds, but I took another minute to myself, letting out a heavy exhale.
What just happened? And why did I want it to happen again but without the interruption?