Chapter 6
six
. . .
Hayes
The second the doors swing shut behind Evie and Gideon, the air in the kitchen shifts.
The noise, the motion, the bustle—all of it slips out with them.
The room suddenly feels smaller around the edges, not claustrophobic, but intimate.
Without their voices echoing off the walls, it’s just the hum of the fridge, the faint spices from all the baking we’ve done, and the steady awareness of us settling back into place.
I glance at Emmy. She’s wiping down the counters, her shoulders still a little tense, her movements a touch too careful. She’s tired, yes, but there’s something else—something in the way she keeps stealing quick, nervous glances at me.
I clear my throat. “Now that you’re all alone, can I make a suggestion?”
She pauses mid-wipe, brow slightly furrowed. “Mm? Uh, maybe?”
I give her a small grin. “Since we’re officially all caught up here, how about we make one last batch of cookies, just for us?” I tilt my head toward the door. “No interruptions from nosey little sisters, no distractions. Just you, me, and some chocolate chip cookies.”
“At your place?” She looks up at me, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. Her eyes flick to mine and away again, then back—brighter this time, like she’s trying not to get ahead of herself. “With the secret ingredient?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Think of it as a reward. For overcoming a disaster, and for being an incredible baker.”
She exhales, almost laughing, shaking her head. “Incredible baker, huh? That’s a stretch. But, okay. I guess I could be persuaded by cookies.”
I stalk toward her, needing to touch her again. Cupping her face in my hands, I say, “You are incredible, Em. An incredible baker and an even better person.”
“You don’t have to say things like that, Hayes.”
“I know I don’t have to, but I’m always going to.”
For a moment, I think she’s going to stretch up on her toes and kiss me again, but at the last second, she pulls back and reaches for her coat instead.
“Let’s get out of here before I lose my courage and change my mind.”
I follow her out of the building, one hand on the small of her back. She pulls the key from her pocket and locks up behind us.
“Shoot,” Em hisses when she turns around after locking the door. “I drove in with Evie this morning.”
“Lucky for you, my truck is parked right there.” I nod at my beat-up old Ford F-150 that I’ve had since I started driving.
“I still can’t believe you haven’t traded that thing in,” she says with a shake of her head.
“Hey, that black truck has never failed me,” I chuckle. I can’t say it runs as good as it did in the 90’s but I’ve always kept it well-maintained. One day, I’ll buy something new. But there’s no way I’m getting rid of this ol’ truck.
I open the door for Emmy and help her climb in the passenger seat, resisting the all-consuming urge to lean in and kiss her.
It’s one thing for someone to see us drive away together, it’s a totally different thing for the two of us to get caught making out before she’s ready for the whole town to know about us.
Once she’s tucked inside, I round the truck and climb in the driver’s seat.
When we pull up outside my house, I kill the engine and look over at her. “Home sweet home,” I say, sliding the key out of the ignition.
“This sounds really stupid now, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen your house. Not since you moved out of your parents’ place, I mean,” she murmurs, taking in the cozy Cape Cod–style house dusted with a soft layer of evening frost.
I shrug like it’s no big deal. Like I didn’t buy this house picturing a future with Emmy in mind.
“Wait until you see the kitchen. It’s where all the magic happens.” I wink.
Emmy snorts and rolls her eyes at me.
“Stay put. I’ll be right there to open your door,” I tell her before jumping out of the truck and doing just that.
I lead the way until up the porch steps and unlock the front door.
Emmy follows me inside, shedding her coat and scarf.
The kitchen is bright, clean, and smells faintly of vanilla and pine from the little diffuser I keep running this time of year.
Countertops gleam, the mixer sits ready, and a stack of bowls and measuring spoons await.
I didn’t plan to bring Emmy back here tonight, but I did have plans for making some cookies at some point this week.
“Ta-da,” I say, gesturing like a magician revealing his trick. “All ours for the next batch of cookies.”
Her eyes light up, and for a second, I forget to breathe. “Hayes, this entire place is adorable," she says, spinning around in the space between the living room and kitchen.
I know the moment she catches a glimpse of the mantel above the fireplace.
Right there in the middle is one of my favorite pictures of all time.
A picture of me and Emmy from the town’s Christmas kick-off our senior year of high school.
She’s smiling as brightly as the lights on the tree behind us, and I’m looking at her like there’s no one else in this world.
I didn’t see it then, but damn if I don’t see it now.
The love and adoration I have for this woman, even back then.
She steps toward the fireplace and runs a hand over the frame. “I have this same photo sitting on my desk at home,” she says softly.
I move so that I’m standing behind her and gently rest my hands on her hips. “You know, Em, …I think it’s always been you.”
She doesn’t pull away—not immediately. Instead, she leans back slightly leaning her back against my chest. And she lets me trace slow circles over her hips.
“I—” Her fingers brush her collarbone, a nervous sweep she probably doesn’t realize she’s doing. “I don’t know what to say.” Her voice comes out soft and raw, like the words themselves are a risk.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I murmur, letting my lips brush the shell of her ear. “Tonight, we just bake. No expectations. Just us.”
She exhales a shaky laugh and spins around to face me, hands resting lightly on my chest. “Us, huh? You’re awfully confident for someone who knows my sister is not above sending out a search party for me.”
“I’ve survived worse than Evie,” I tease, letting my hands slide down a little further, giving her ass a gentle squeeze.
She rolls her eyes playfully but moves toward the counter where the ingredients are set up. “All right, Master Baker, show me what your kitchen can do.”
I grab a bowl and a whisk, and soon we’re side by side, measuring, mixing, and sprinkling chocolate chips. She sneaks glances at me while measuring flour, and I catch her, giving a teasing grin in return. Her blush is subtle but real.
Halfway through, she pauses, “And now, we add the maple.”
I jog over to where I hung my jacket and pull out the bottle of maple extract from earlier. “Now we add the maple.”
“I still can’t believe you remember after all those years.”
“And I can’t believe you forgot,” I tease, tapping the tip of her nose with a smudge of flour.
She giggles, swiping the flour from her nose.“You know,” she murmurs, “this smells exactly like Grandpa’s kitchen. I feel like I’m a kid again.”
I lean a little closer, resting my forehead on hers. “That’s the point,” I murmur, my voice low. “A little nostalgia, a little magic. All in the name of holiday cheer.”
She shivers from my breath on her skin. I wait for her to step away, but she doesn’t. She scoops another blob of dough, pausing to let her fingers linger just a moment on mine. I feel the warmth of her hand, the tiny electric pull that always shoots straight to my chest.
“You know,” she says softly, glancing down at the bowl in front of her, “I could forget the cookies for a minute.”
“Could you now?” I counter, closing the distance until I can feel her heartbeat against me. “And what would you do instead?”
Her lips twitch into a smile, shy, teasing, dangerous. “I’d kiss you. Maybe more.”
I laugh softly, low in my chest. “Good answer.” My fingers brush the side of her face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into it, eyes fluttering shut for a second.
I can’t resist. I guide her finger to my lips and lick the dough off. Then, I kiss her. This one is quick, just enough to get my point across.
“Delicious. Just like you.” I wink.
Emmy lets out a soft mew that jolts straight through me.
“Hayes,” she breathes, voice thick with amusement and something deeper, something softer that makes my chest clench.
“Em,” I murmur, leaning closer, letting my hand trail down her back, brushing against the curve of her waist. “You better hurry and get that first batch on a cookie sheet,” I say, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper, “That gives me about ten minutes to make out with you.”
She laughs, shoving a tiny bit of dough at me playfully. I can feel her warmth, smell the vanilla and pine from the diffuser mixing with Em’s own soft smell—vanilla and sugar, always. I take a slow breath, memorizing her, savoring the moment.
My house finally feels like home.
When the first tray goes into the oven, she leans against me from behind, her arms slipping around my waist as she rests her head on the back of my shoulder. I feel her heartbeat, fast and warm, and I let my own hands settle over hers, squeezing gently.
“I could get used to this,” she whispers, voice soft, barely audible over the hum of the mixer.
“Used to what?” I ask, looking back at her, even though I know the answer.
“This. With you,” she says, tilting her head to look up at me. Her eyes are luminous in the kitchen light, sparkling with something vulnerable and daring at the same time. “Baking cookies. Spending time together.”
I spin around and kiss the top of her head. “Me too.”
Em clears her throat. “I do believe you promised to make out with me now,” she challenges.
“I did,” I whisper before pressing my lips to her.
She moans as I dip my tongue inside her mouth. Clings to me as she kisses me back.
For ten short minutes, it’s just me and Emmy like we were always meant to be.
The kitchen timer buzzes and I pull the first batch of cookies out. Em gets them onto the cooling rack and then we’re filling the next tray with more dough.
By the third tray, we’re both covered in flour. She smudges some across my cheek intentionally, and I retaliate with a smear across her nose. She squeals and laughs, tipping her head back so I can press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“This is unfair,” she mutters between laughs. “You’re supposed to be baking cookies, trying to distract me.”
I press my forehead to hers. “I could say the same to you, Em.”
We work through the remaining dough together, mixing, laughing, stealing kisses between batches. When the last tray goes into the oven, we collapse onto the stools at the counter, hands entwined, shoulders brushing.
The oven timer dings again, pulling us back to reality just long enough to take the cookies out, warm and golden.
I hand her a fresh, steaming cookie, and she bites into it slowly, eyes closing in bliss.
I watch her, memorizing every expression, every little sigh of satisfaction while my cock hardens behind my zipper.
She mumbles through a mouthful of cookie, cheeks flushed, “this tastes like magic.”
I lean down, brushing my lips to hers again. “Magic’s just what happens when you’re with the right person.”
She laughs, brushing her nose against mine. “Then I guess I’m in the right place.”
I squeeze her hand, pressing my forehead to hers again. “Always,” I whisper, tasting the sweetness of the moment—and her—like it will last forever.