Chapter 46
Cornelia
“It’s good, but I think it needs more chocolate chips,” I tell Benedict after tasting the cookie mix, my legs dangling from the top of the white marble kitchen island where I’m seated.
Earlier, I texted Benedict that I was craving cookies, and he came over with the ingredients to make them, which wasn’t what I had in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of asking my chef to make some or going out to buy some, but Benedict insisted we bake them ourselves.
After I told him what happened the last time I baked something, and that I really wanted them to be edible, we settled on me being in charge of the mixing and taste testing, while he handled everything else.
We’re making a variety of cookies—peanut butter, snickerdoodles, oatmeal, the classic chocolate chip cookies we’re working on right now, and the ones I’m most excited about: red velvet.
“Coming right up,” he says, handing me a bag of chocolate chips.
Surprisingly, I’m quite enjoying baking. Normally, my relationship with cooking is a love-hate one, but I think what I’m mostly enjoying is watching Benedict Glounger cook. There’s something undeniably sexy about a man who knows his way around a kitchen, and he looks really good in an apron.
I hear footsteps approaching and turn towards the door.
Anthony walks into the kitchen, and I realise it’s probably the smell that drew him here.
The entire kitchen smells like butter and sugar.
He’s dressed in a suit, but unlike at the office, he isn’t wearing a tie, which makes me think he’s been home for a while and I didn’t notice.
He looks at me, a bit shocked, but with a smile. “What are you doing?” Finding me in the kitchen—cooking, and it smelling good—isn’t a normal occurrence for him. I’ve gone through phases where I tried to cook, but usually ended with part of the house smelling burnt.
“We’re baking cookies,” I reply. “Well, kind of,” I mutter to myself, because I’m the kind of part.
“Want some?” Benedict Glounger picks up the plate of finished peanut butter cookies beside me and offers them to him, but keeps his distance as if he were feeding a dog that might jump and bite at any moment.
Anthony takes one but looks at it weirdly, as if the cookie might be poisoned or something. I’m not sure if it’s because he lacks faith in my cooking abilities or because of Benedict.
He’s been spending a lot of time here, and Anthony doesn’t seem to be warming up to him like I’d hoped.
Before TJ and I broke up, he and Anthony were really close—too close sometimes.
With Benedict, I wasn’t expecting them to become best friends, but while it might not be noticeable to most people, I know my brother, and he’s just tolerating him.
It annoys me because Benedict has been nothing but nice to him.
I guess the first impression left a mark.
And the fact I’ve been skipping therapy and not going into the office much because I’ve been sleeping in doesn’t help.
But that’s not Benedict’s fault, though Anthony doesn’t see it that way.
He won’t say it, but I know how he sees it—when I was with TJ, I never skipped a session.
Unlike now. But how could I? TJ almost nagged me about it as much as he does.
Maybe I shouldn’t compare them—for better or for worse, Anthony saw TJ grow, and they bonded over some things.
Anthony takes a small bite of the cookie, and after tasting it, he says, “It’s really good.” He sounds like he doesn’t quite believe it. I feel like I should be offended by his reaction. “Can I have another one?”
Benedict Glounger nods, approaching the plate to him again, and Anthony takes another one.
“You can have the whole plate if you want. We have another batch in the oven,” I offer, thinking that maybe if he eats a full plate of cookies Benedict made, he might warm up to him. It’s a bit of a stretch, but a girl’s allowed to dream.
Benedict brought enough ingredients to start our own cookie shop.
“I’m fine with just one more, thank you,” he says as he heads off. But before he’s out of sight, he turns back to me. “Please don’t burn the kitchen,” he adds with a playful smile.
You cause a bit of smoke once (five times), and people never let you live it down.
“I can’t make any promises,” I call out to him.
As I say, his disdain is not noticeable, but if it were TJ instead of Benedict, Anthony would have stayed and baked with us.
I turn back to Benedict Glounger, intending to put aside my thoughts about Anthony.
“Come here and taste the mix,” I tell him.
“I feel like it’s missing something.” I offer him the spoon I used to mix it, still coated in cookie dough.
Just as he’s about to taste it, I pull the spoon back towards me.
He smiles and steps closer. As he does, I use my legs to nudge him forward, pulling him into an embrace. We’re so close I can feel his breath. I hold the spoon out to his mouth, and he finally tastes it.
He looks me in the eyes. “It’s perfect.” It doesn’t feel like he’s talking about the cookie dough.
“Really?” I ask.
He nods, then takes a bit of cookie dough from the spoon with his index and middle fingers, moving them towards my mouth. I take his fingers in my mouth, tasting the sweetness.
I ditch the spoon, and he kisses me.
And again.
And again.
At first, the kisses were soft and slow, but then he quickened the pace.
I feel like I’m in one of the scenes from his show.
He starts kissing my neck, and I arch my back, throwing my head back. I’m still holding him with my legs, pulling him closer to me.
I moan softly.
Benedict returns to my lips and kisses me. “I love you,” he says softly against my lips.
That stops me in my tracks, and him too. It’s as if he didn’t realise he had said it until he actually did.
I drop my legs that had him locked in an embrace, and he takes a step backwards.
An awkward silence lingers for a few seconds, though it feels like hours, until he breaks it.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Benedict says, touching his chin. “I didn’t want it to come out this way, but I do. I do… love you.”