Chapter 3 #2
Isabella leaned against the counter, cradling her own cup, and for a moment they just stood there in comfortable silence.
The pre-dawn kitchen felt like its own world, separate from everything else.
Flour still dusted the counters, the smell of baking croissants beginning to fill the air, and this beautiful woman was smiling at him over excellent coffee.
Dangerous. This is so dangerous. Christopher knew he needed to turn, run, get out of here, and not just the kitchen but the inn.
Maybe he could say that his aunt asked him for Christmas…
no, that wouldn’t work. The Bennetts knew he didn’t have any other family.
He took another sip of the insanely good coffee, his mind reeling and his fight or flight instincts flapping about like a wounded gull.
“Thank you,” Isabella said quietly.
Her soft tones brought him back to the present and out of his chaotic spinning mind.
What was happening to him? One thing Christopher White was not was a person who panicked or felt he needed to run from anything!
But this… this was something that he’d never experienced before, and he was feeling out of his depth.
Christopher shook it off and answered, “For what? You’re the one who taught me to make croissants and gave me amazing coffee.”
“For making me laugh. For not making me feel ridiculous about the knife thing. For...” She paused, searching for words. “For being here, I guess.”
Christopher set down his cup and moved closer.
Not invasively, just enough to make his presence felt, his intention clear.
He’d never been good at resisting temptation, and Isabella Turner was more tempting than she had any right to be, and every instinct in his body was telling him something was wrong. “Anytime, Isabella. I mean that.”
Christopher’s mind flashed back to when she’d swung around, brandishing a vicious kitchen knife. There was fear in her eyes, not just from getting a fright-type fear. The kind that had a person on edge and expecting something bad to jump out of the shadows, and made them feel unsafe.
Her eyes met his, and he saw something there, gratitude, yes, but also a flicker of the same awareness he felt. The same pull.
The timer went off, shattering the moment. Isabella turned quickly to the oven, and Christopher wondered if she was as grateful for the interruption as she seemed or if she’d felt the same reluctance he had to break eye contact.
She pulled out the tray of perfectly golden croissants, and the kitchen immediately filled with the buttery, yeasty scent of fresh pastry. Christopher’s mouth watered.
“We did that?” He couldn’t keep the amazement from his voice.
“We did.” Isabella’s pride was evident. “Want to try one?”
“Are you kidding? After all that work? Absolutely.” Christopher hoped there wasn’t drool on his chin as the scent tantalized and teased his senses.
“They need to cool for a few minutes,” Isabella warned, turning to get some butter and jam from the refrigerator, stopping to collect some plates and cutlery before returning to his side.
She carefully placed a croissant on a plate and handed it to him.
Without putting butter on it, Christopher took a bite and had to suppress the groan that wanted to escape. The pastry was perfect, flaky, buttery, and rich. Layers upon layers of delicate dough that practically melted on his tongue.
“This is unreal,” Christopher managed when he could speak. “I helped make this?”
“You did.” Isabella took a bite of one as well, and Christopher tried not to watch her mouth. “You’re officially no longer limited to MREs and instant coffee.”
“Don’t get carried away. This was definitely beginner’s luck and an exceptional teacher.” Christopher polished off the croissant in a few more bites, already eyeing the tray. “Though I might need to hang around the kitchen more often. You know, to perfect my technique.”
Christopher saw the way her breath caught slightly at the suggestion, the way her eyes brightened.
“My kitchen is always open for eager students.” Isabella’s voice dropped, and her eyes darkened slightly, making Christopher’s pulse quicken as he knew for certain she was as interested in him as he was in her.
“Good to know.” Christopher’s eyes met hers and held.
The moment stretched, full of possibility. Christopher felt it like a physical thing, this pull toward her, this want that was both simple and terrifyingly complex.
He should step back. Should remember that he was leaving in three weeks, that he never stayed anywhere long, that getting involved with someone was a complication he’d spent his entire adult life avoiding.
Should remember that he’d built a life around not forming attachments, around keeping things simple and clean.
But Isabella was looking at him with those dark eyes, flour smudged on her cheek, and Christopher found he didn’t want to step back at all.
The sound of footsteps nearing the kitchen broke the spell. Isabella glanced toward the door, and Christopher reluctantly did the same.
“That’ll be Gabe,” Christopher said, recognizing the uneven gait and the distinctive thump of the medical boot. “He’s always been an early riser.”
“I should start on the rest of breakfast then.” Isabella moved back to professional mode, though Christopher noticed the slight flush still on her cheeks. “Thank you for helping with the croissants.”
“Thank you for teaching me.” Christopher meant it on multiple levels. “Best baking lesson I’ve ever had.”
“I thought it was the only baking lesson you’ve ever had,” she pointed out, smiling.
“Actually, it’s the second,” Christopher corrected her teasingly. “My mom tried to teach me once.” His smile warmed, and his eyes pulled hers to his. “But it wasn’t nearly as fun as this one was.”
Gabe appeared in the doorway, looking between them with interest. “Morning. Something smells amazing.”
“Christopher helped make croissants,” Isabella announced, and Christopher heard the pride in her voice.
“Did he now?” Gabe grinned at his friend. “Since when did you develop domestic skills?”
“I’m learning,” Christopher said dryly.
“I guess it is the season of miracles.” Gabe’s eyes were laughing, and Christopher shot him a look. “My mother is going to love this. She’s been saying for years you need to learn to cook something that doesn’t come in a vacuum-sealed pouch.”
Isabella smiled and began preparing breakfast for both of them.
“Please, both of you, take a seat,” Isabella pointed to the booth in the corner.
Christopher watched her move around the kitchen with easy competence, and that warm feeling in his chest settled in to stay.
He was in trouble. He’d known Isabella Turner for less than twelve hours, and he was already in trouble.
And the strangest part? For the first time in his life, Christopher wasn’t sure he wanted to run from it.