“I’ll be gentle.” I tap his cheek.
He catches my hand and presses a kiss into my palm. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”
The warmth in my chest radiates outward until every inch of me is covered in a pleasing tingle. His fingers graze my forearm and roll up my sleeves while a gentle intensity rests on my face. “I’m fine, I promise.”
Heat curls down my arm. I reluctantly pull away and dance around him to get to the stove. Starting the bavarois filling, I mix the framboise, gelatin, and peaches in a bowl and grab a pan to heat the milk over the burner.
“What can I do, Peaches?”
“Oh, uhm.” I pause my stirring. I’m so used to the solo baking act, I don’t quite know what to do with Liam or how he could be helpful. “What’s your skill level with all this?”
“Hasn’t progressed much since I was twelve.” He peeks at me bashfully, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
His sagging shoulders and what he’s left unsaid tug at my heartstrings. SinceNana.
“Oh, well, that’s okay. I’m sure there’s something. There’s a checklist by the mixer if you want to look over it and see if there’s anything you’re comfortable doing.”
He nods, shifting his attention to the flour-dusted paper. “What kind of photos do you need?”
“Just a few of the mixing bowls and ingredients while I work through the recipe, you know, the standard baking blog stuff. But that would be really helpful if you don’t mind, I hate having to stop to take those, and my phone usually ends up covered in batter at the end.”
“Yeah, I think that might be the only thing I can handle here. What the hell is a bavarois?” he asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“A Bavarian cream.” I glance over my shoulder and catch Liam’s camera angled at me. “I didn’t mean for you to take photos of me!” I shriek, his thumb pressing on the screen in that instant.
“What?” He blinks innocently back.
“I look like death.”
He peers at his screen, then back at me. “You just look like Evie to me.” He shrugs.
“Glad to know I look like a mess all the time to you.” I wave an accusatory wooden spoon at him, and flecks of cream dot his cheeks.
“Not what I said.” He sighs, wiping the side of his face. “Would you quit waving that thing at me? I’m trying to focus.”
The spoon in my hand slips. Liam snaps another photo. “Pun intended?” I ask, trying to keep my cool.
“Aren’t they always?” He hovers over my shoulder, grabbing a picture of the bowl. His chest is inches from pressing into my back and a shiver works down my spine at his proximity.
Never telling Maria about any of this. If she had a theory about him sending the postcards before, this would confirm it for her. As hesitant as I am to allow my brain to entertain that thought, it’s hard when my alternate options are dwindling to not at least consider it.
The latest onedidcome early.
And his pun game has grown significantly compared to our childhood.
But that would mean he’s been doing something selfless and kind since I left.
Since the night I called him a selfish ass that would never change.
Sweet and kind weren’t his M.O, even if I’m starting to seriously believe they might be now.
My spine stiffens as his chest presses into my back. “Hey? You okay?” Liam’s mouth dips toward my ears as his free hand falls on my hip and gently tugs me towards him.
“Huh? Oh yeah, fine,” I autopilot. “Why?”
“I know you’re the professional, but you’re stirring that like a robot.”
“Oh.” I force my spine to relax. “Helps keep the milk from curdling.”
