Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
EVIE
Fresh bread and ripe fruit. That’s all I smell as my shoes click against the floor. It’s cool in here, enough for goose bumps to form across my flesh, even with a cardigan wrapped around my shoulders.
“I don’t know how you’re out of flour already.” Theo leads us through the tiny market.
“I’m not out of flour.” I tug on his arm, pulling him in the opposite direction. “You do know I need other ingredients to bake, right? Like eggs. You eat so many eggs. How does one man eat that many eggs?”
“The doctor said my cholesterol is fine, thanks.”
“That’s not my concern! My concern is that you’re an egg hog.”
We’ve been in the little cabin for a few days, and I’ve learned a lot about Theo—like that he eats three eggs every morning for breakfast. It’s an excellent source of protein, but it also leaves me with nothing to bake with.
I can’t complain. He’s paid for everything since we arrived, and whenever I try to pay, he reminds me to use the company credit card.
“We have eggs at home,” he says, with more confidence than he should have, considering how wrong he is.
“I promise you, we don’t.” I grab a dozen eggs and add them to the tiny cart. “We have two eggs, which isn’t even enough for your outrageous breakfast spread.”
“Outrageous?” Theo laughs loud enough to turn heads, and he pushes the cart forward. “What’s outrageous about three eggs and two pieces of toast? I eat it every morning.”
“That’s what I find so outrageous. Haven’t you ever heard of variety?”
“Not for breakfast.”
I click my tongue. “Well, we’re about to change that.” I place a bottle of milk in the cart. “It’s time to expand your horizons. I’ll show you a variety of breakfast foods if it kills me.”
“Uh-huh.” He continues, distractible enough that I have to stop him every few feet. “There’s a reason I don’t have a fancy breakfast.”
“Let me guess. You never have time?”
“Exactly.” His eyes sparkle when he smiles at me, though I can’t imagine what he finds amusing. “You know me so well already.”
“Too well.” I tease, lifting a brow. “Your flaws are starting to wear on me, but it’s fine. People can change.”
“I haven’t changed in forty years.”
“Good thing you have me around to help with the transformation.”
“Good thing, indeed.”
Electricity crackles. The shine in his eye nearly turns into a smolder, and I swear he holds the cart tighter, his knuckles stiff and white. It’s getting harder to tell myself these moments are in my head, and it’s even more difficult to admit I don’t want them to be.
Theo doesn’t have me around—not for long or in any real way—but I don’t mind making him breakfast. I like it. Food is a love language, and it’s the one I speak most fluently.
Not that I love Theo. We’ve been stuck in a cabin for days, and I still hardly know him. Between watching movies, moments of admiring nature, and talking about work… I suppose I know him on a professional level. I may even say we’re platonic friends.
That’s all we are. I ignore the electricity and continue through the shop.
“What are you baking tonight?” he asks evenly.
“Croissants, which means I need a ton of butter. Don’t worry, I’ll pass the croissants around to the others. You won’t have to eat them all.”
“I wasn’t worried. I can gobble down a croissant like no one’s business.”
“I’ll make you a breakfast sandwich with a fresh croissant.” I drop butter into the cart. The butter here is better than any I’ve ever tasted, and I’m excited to see how it improves my usual recipe. “There’s nothing like it.”
“That does sound good. What else do we need? Bacon?”
“Bacon or sausage. Your choice.”
“Definitely bacon.” He groans and takes the liberty of adding a package of bacon to the cart. “It’s my biggest weakness.”
“Loving food is never a weakness. It keeps you alive.”
My love of eating is often stifled by working in the kitchen, but taking a break from bakery work has reawakened that side of me.
“Are croissants hard to make?” he asks, wandering around idly.
“They’re time-consuming. They take about twelve hours, usually.”
Theo stops moving, and the squeaky cart goes silent for the first time since we arrived. Dramatic. “Yikes. Twelve hours?”
“It’s fine. It’s not all hands-on—a lot of it is waiting around. That’s most of baking, honestly. Patience is a virtue.”
“It’s not one I hold, I’m afraid.”
“Patience was probably my first life lesson, and it was taught by my love of baking.” I run my fingers over a bar of dark chocolate, contemplating another purchase. “Cooking is hot and fast, but baking requires hours of waiting. You never know how it will turn out until it’s too late.”
“Sounds stressful.”
“It is. That’s what makes it so fun.” I decide against the chocolate, but as soon as Theo thinks I’m not looking, he slips it into the cart.
I pretend not to notice.
Once we have everything on my list, I let him wander. It’s his first time in the market. I’ve only been once before, but I already have it memorized, recognizing that he’s leading us to the fresh vegetables.
He adds a few carrots to the growing pile of food. “If you’re baking, I’m making dinner. That only seems fair.”
I lift a brow. “Really? I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Of course, I can cook. How do you think I survived this long without you?” He scoffs. “I’ll make soup. That sounds nice on a cold day like today, right?”
It is especially chilly these days. It was warm enough in San Diego to take the occasional dip into the ocean, though I could never stay in for long.
I’m not as strong as my brother. Here, it still feels like the late days of winter, even though we’re well into spring.
It’s been rainy lately, too. The wet weather is great for the trees we’ve been planting, but not so much for keeping warm.
I look out at the gray morning sky. “Yes. That sounds perfect.”
It’s the first day of the week we haven’t had to work. A day of baking and eating food I don’t have to make myself sounds divine.
Spending it with Theo is great, too. He could be with anyone else, doing anything else. I know there’s a group going to a bar, a few visiting a castle, and others going on a tour. As fun as those ideas all sound, I need a day to decompress.
Instead of going with them, Theo is right on the same page—and like everything else, I tell myself it means nothing.
It doesn’t. Nothing at all.
“That smells amazing.” The scent drags me away from the couch and into the kitchen—a place I should already be.
I haven’t even started with my croissants; if I delay, that means waiting longer for them. My body begs for relaxation, and all I can do is listen—but more than that, it’s begging for a bite of his hot soup.
The warm, earthy smells of herbs and vegetables fill the air, and I already know I’m in for a treat. Theo’s homemade cooking will be better than when we stopped at a local restaurant, and even better than when I pick up pastries from town.
Nothing warms you up quite like someone else’s home cooking. I’m so used to warming other people up with my sweets that I forget what it’s like to let someone else take care of me. Theo is doing that now—and he looks good while he’s doing it.
A white T-shirt clings to his form as he bends over the stove, diligently stirring his concoction. “Thanks.” He stands upright, flashing a proud smile. “It’ll be done soon—way faster than your fancy twelve-hour croissants.”
“All croissants take that long! Mine aren’t even fancy…”
I’m still learning the craft of croissant making. All I’ve ever wanted is to dive headfirst into baking, but that wasn’t possible. Paying my way means I’ve always had to take it slow, and I’ve always been a few steps behind my peers.
“I guess I should get started with the croissants.” I sigh and check on the bowl of milk, yeast, and honey.
Theo watches me over my shoulder. He’s not too close, but it’s enough to set my heart on fire. “What is that, anyway? It looks wild…”
“Activated yeast. Believe it or not, this is the look we’re going for. Sometimes, ugly things become pretty later.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Don’t be so shallow.”
Theo is anything but shallow. He doesn’t need to defend himself, and to my surprise, he doesn’t.
I step away and measure the remaining ingredients—water, butter, sugar, flour, and salt. It’s easy. Most goods use the same ingredients. The dough is shaggy, mixed by hand with a wooden spoon. I can still feel Theo’s eyes on me.
“What about the eggs?” he asks. “You made a big deal of them earlier.”
I look up, lifting a brow. “I made a big deal because you eat them daily, and I need them later. There’s an egg wash.”
“An egg wash?”
“Yes. It’s exactly what it sounds like. Don’t look at me like I’m the weird one.” I giggle. “You really don’t know a thing about baking, do you?”
“I know enough to help you mix that up.” He tries to move me aside, reaching for the bowl and nudging me with his hip. Unlike last time he tried to help, I don’t let him.
“I’ve got it.” I laugh and nudge him with my hip, playfully pushing him out of my space. “You’ll probably mess something up. You don’t even know what an egg wash is.”
“Then teach me. C’mon.”
“Why don’t you focus on your soup? Hm?” My hand seems to move without permission, reaching up to swipe flour on his nose.
The moment I realize what I’ve done, my cheeks blaze. My chest rises and falls erratically with each breath I take. His gaze softens. Our eyes never drift.
“You’re kind of a control freak in the kitchen,” he murmurs; soft, teasing words. He shouldn’t speak to me like that. I shouldn’t like it.
“I’m a control freak everywhere. I thought you would understand that by now.”
“Everywhere? You sure about that?”
The prodding comment carries more weight than it should. Why do I have a feeling we’re not talking about cooking anymore?
I swallow past the dry feeling in my throat, and my lips part. “Well… almost everywhere.”
What I want is to lose control with him. I’ve held myself back since we met, and certainly since he offered me the job. It’s harder to keep myself in check in this cottage, with no one but the mountains to witness us break the rules.
I must. Everything is going exactly as planned. I’ve only been working for him for a few weeks, but I’ve already saved up enough for a month of rent…
Just keep going. Don’t get distracted. Don’t let him distract you.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m already distracted. His dark eyes penetrate me, and I’m moving forward without thinking about it—like he’s pulling me in. He isn’t. He never does, always standing too far, always setting up walls between us.
The wall is gone now.
“What is the exception to your need for control?” he asks. “When will you let go?”
We both know it’s a dangerous question.
My lips curl up at the corners, and I fix him with a playful smile. “I think you know the answer. Use your imagination.”
“Evie…” He leans in, and finally, I know he’s searching for me, too.
No more patience. No more waiting. No more perfection.
My arms fling around his neck, and his hands find my waist. Our lips crash together; any sense of control melts away as I finally breathe him in. He lifts me easily, setting me on the countertop—a mess of flour and discarded vegetable skins. For once, I don’t care about cleaning.
I moan into his mouth, my lips parting, silently asking for more.
He gives it to me—gives in to me—his tongue shoving into my mouth. My hunger for him has been asleep, but it awakens, becoming ravenous. I claw at his shirt, my fingers slipping under the fabric. I trail my nails along his abdomen, and he clenches under the gentle scrapes.
He presses his hips between my thighs, and I jolt back to reality. There it is—proof he wants me how I want him. He’s hard, throbbing between my thighs. I wrap my legs around his waist and draw him in closer. A low, needy groan emits from his lips.
“Wait…” He pulls away, staring up at the ceiling. “I need a second.”
The dream we’ve been living in for a few moments crashes around me, slamming me back to reality. Left without his touch, I’m cold.
“Theo—”
“Can you watch the soup? Keep making your croissants, I’ll… I’ll be back. I’m sorry. I’ll be back.”
He can’t even look at me when he runs away, leaving me alone with my feverish need.