Page 287 of A Taste of Vanilla

I look down. “I think so.”

She walks toward me, stopping right in front.

Oliver pops his head in. “Oh god. I need to drink some bleach.”

Halston rolls her eyes. “Can you get Marley home?”

He peeks into the front. “Yeah. I can do that. I’m taking out the trash first. No one make a baby while I’m gone.”

“Oliver,” Halston gasps.

“I’m setting a boundary.”

She smiles, and then looks back up at me.

I feel the room spin.

It’s not dramatic. There’s no music or cinematic lighting beyond the glow of the pastry case. No audience, mainly because Marley is asleep.

The night is over.

There’s nothing left to hide behind, and she’s looking at me like she’s tired of being careful.

Her gaze travels up my forearms.

I take a deep breath. “I like plans.”

She snorts. “I’ve noticed.”

“Structure. Time to evaluate the consequences of something. I like knowing what comes next. The schedule. The exit route.”

Her mouth trembles. “That’s the sexiest and least sexy thing anyone has said to me.” I can hear the joke in her voice.

“I don’t know how to be spontaneous,” I say. “Not the way you are. Not the way you can walk into a room, change the menu name, make everyone feel invited, and be loved.” I look at my hands. “I don’t think I know how to say things beautifully.”

She goes still.

“I can talk about temperature and why a dough failed. I can talk about process. But I don’t always know how to say the thing that matters.”

My heart beats faster.

“I know,” she says softly.

“No.”

She blinks.

I step closer, and then stop.

“I know you know some of it,” I say. “But I need to say it anyway. Before I make another plan. Before I try to be useful.”

She swallows. “Okay.”

I look at her.

“I love you,” I say.

Her face crumples.