‘Okay, it’s a deal. Will this take long? Will we get them all baked in time?’
‘We will if you get a wriggle on with that wine.’
Dorie did exactly as she said and sat sipping wine whilst giving me and Nick directions on how to make pastry. I hadn’t realised he was going to stay too, but an extra pair of hands was not something I could afford to turn down at the moment, even if those hands made my mind wander with disturbing regularity.
I don’t think either of us really knew how to be in front of his nan after our moment together last night and being caught out by a clearly cranky Stephen. So, we both ended up acting super-awkward and overly polite as we stood side by side at the kitchen island.
We made a production line surrounded by ingredients and equipment. Nick measured all the amounts and I made the dough, rubbing butter into flour, adding sugar and egg before quickly forming it into dough. Nick rolled it out and cut the cases and then filled them before we chilled them, ready for baking.
He was concentrating intently on rolling out the next slab of dough, in backwards and forwards motions only, exactly as Dorie instructed, before turning it ninety degrees and rolling again. His blond hair was hanging forward, a strand caught in his glasses and he’d turned up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal precisely how wonderful it was when his muscles bunched and flexed in his forearms. He wasn’t a beefy guy by any stretch of the imagination, but he was definitely toned and I was definitely becoming ridiculous.
The kitchen grew warm and perfumed with the heady scent of fruit and alcohol as the first batches went into the oven. After the first two dozen, we really didn’t need Dorie’s instructions anymore and an industrious silence settled over us.
Nick reached across the counter for the bag of flour and I leaned back, lifting my sticky hands from the bowl of crumbs I was working on. As he stretched across, he rested the heel of his hand against my lower back – for balance I suppose, or to keep me still, I don’t know. I do know goose bumps erupted up my spine and spread out over my scalp.
I froze, his body at a right angle to mine, giving off heat and that scent of his – how many times did he shower a day? I could’ve stepped away – Ishould’vestepped away – to give him room to get to the flour but instead I stood there absorbing the tantalising nearness of him and realising that this brief moment of barely touching was lighting me up in ways that no kind of intimacy with Peter had for a very long time. And that was the reason for all this lusting, I was sure: I was on the rebound.
Except that I hadn’t felt like this about Stephen.
‘Are you okay?’
I blinked at the sound of his voice, low-pitched and so close that when I looked up his head was bent over mine and the bright blue of his eyes trapped me. I swallowed hard.
‘Yeah, I’m fine thanks.’ My assurance came out embarrassingly husky and his gaze dropped for a moment to my mouth. My stomach leapt with the sudden, instinctive knowledge gathered purely from body language: he liked me back. And once the euphoria of that ego trip faded slightly, my heart began to pound, not just from excitement but fear.
If he liked me back, ignoring this was going to be ten times harder. Case in point, I was still staring up at him, inside the semicircle of his arms, rather than moving away, and the compulsion to lick my lips was getting impossible to ignore. All the while he kept staring too.
Then it got evenworse. I looked athismouth. I hadn’t really studied it, other than when I was seeking those big, panty-melting smiles, but wow; that right there was a bottom lip that begged to be bitten. Imagining my teeth giving it a firm tug made my legs go all watery. I leaned in towards him; he leaned towards me—
‘Ssnnooorrrrcccchhhh…’
I jumped back, my heart somersaulting inside my chest at the unholy noise, which had come from neither of us. Nick released a few impressive and not commonly used swear words and a cloud of white puffed up around us as he dropped the bag of flour he’d been reaching for before we’d got distracted.
Coughing and blinking, we both looked straight over to the corner where Dorie was sitting, chin propped up on her hand, elbow planted on the other side of the kitchen island to us, eyes firmly shut and nose/mouth emitting the violent snoring.
Somehow, I’d completely forgotten she was in the room with us. I gave a nervous chuckle. ‘Whoever would’ve thought such a disturbing noise could come from such a small person?’
Nick gave a short laugh and pushed his glasses back up his nose with the back of his hand. He threw a quick look at me and stepped away slightly, that tinge of pink rosying up his high cheekbones. When he looked back at his nan though, a crinkly line formed between his eyebrows.
‘I should take her up to her room before she falls off that stool.’ He picked up a tea towel and started wiping his hands.
‘Or you could just wake her up?’
‘Something tells me she won’t be easily woken.’
I followed his gaze to the bottle of wine I’d given her. It was half empty and Nick and I hadn’t drunk any. Hmm. ‘Yeah, you might be right. Well, thank you for your help.’ I brushed at the mixture of butter and flour caked to my fingers.
‘I can come back afterwards.’ He folded the towel in half and then once again before returning it to the edge of the counter.
‘That’s okay. I’ve got it from here.’
He opened his mouth to object but I forced a smile and went over to the sink to wash my hands. I needed all the help I could get but some internal alarm bell was warning me that being alone with Nick wouldnotbe sensible or productive.
When I finished at the sink and turned back around, he had scooped his nan up in his arms like she was a child. He was so gentle with her, I almost couldn’t stand to watch. I hurried over to open the swing door for him and caught that brooding look on his face again.
Yeah, it definitely wouldn’t be sensible to be around Nick on my own whilst in my current emotional state. He was like a big red button with a sign over saying: ‘Do Not Press’. And I’d never been much good at resisting that kind of impulse.
I picked up the bottle from where Dorie had been sitting. The guests really did love a bit of booze. And they would be expecting the bar to be open soon. But I couldn’t manage all the prep for dinner and the Mince Pie Evening and be in the bar at the same time. I’d have to put a notice on the door that it was shut this afternoon because of the festivities – that was plausible.
