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The smell of something sweet wakes me up. I look around and my gaze land on a picture on the nightstand of me and Zander from the carnival. A smile curls up on my face. He has a picture of me, of us, in his bedroom. Warmth fills in my chest at the sweet revelation.
I get up from the bed and enter his grand en suite bathroom. It’s as posh as the rest of his apartment. After taking a pee, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Crab! I look like a raccoon. Another reason why I’m not a fan of makeup. I run back to the room and return with my toiletries bag.
After cleaning my face of any makeup with my natural wipes, I’m about to put on my striped pink top when I notice Zander’s navy blue T-shirt. I take it down from the hook and bring it closer to my nose. It smells of him—warm, vanilla, woodsy. At the last minute, I decide to switch the pink with the blue.
The cotton of his T-shirt feels soft against my skin and reaches just below my hips. I decide to forgo pants, knowing it might bring the simmering heat into his eyes, which I’ve missed so badly in the past few weeks.
When I return to his room, the sweet smell hits me again and leads me to the kitchen. I’ve only experienced this smell in bakeries, and my heart stops at the most amazing sight.
Zander, with a black apron tied on his front, is mixing something in an enormous glass bowl. There’s a fresh batch of cookies on the cooling rack.
I’ve never seen a man cook in a house. In restaurants, yes. But never in his own kitchen, and never so skillfully.
“You can really cook and bake?” I squeak in surprise.
He glances up at me with a broad smile. “Good morning to you too.”
The cookies look too tempting to resist, and I grab one. “They’re warm.”
“They’re just out of the oven,” he replies with a funny look on his face.
“These are delicious. They look almost store bought.” I turn the perfectly round cookie in my hand before hopping on the chair as he churns something with a wooden ladle. “I’ve never baked.”
His hands stop and he looks at me. “What about at Christmas?”
“What about it?” I take a bite and the warm chocolate chips melt in my mouth.
“They didn’t let you bake cookies at Kindred Hearts on Christmas.”
“Kindred Hearts isn’t a home, Zander. It’s an orphanage for special needs children. They couldn’t risk bringing us into the kitchen, close to sharp objects and heat.”
When he looks at me, his face holds a familiar expression of sorrow and pain, which I don’t like. After a beat, he drops the spoon and retrieves a big box from the overhead cabinet. Placing it next to me, he nods toward it. I open the box to find it filled to the brim with baking accessories.
I’ve never seen half of these things.
I take out a colorful packet stuck on the side and peek inside it to find heart-shaped cookie cutters in varying shades of pink. I burst out laughing.“I could have never imagined something like this in your kitchen. They don’t really go with your image.”
“Zach,” Zander replies, shaking his head.
Oh! The mischievous Teager boy.
“He gifted me these for Christmas a few years back.” Zander pulls me into his arms and takes the cookie cutters from my hand before placing them on the counter. He puts something around my neck, and I notice it’s another black apron that reaches far below my knees. He adjusts the tie, then circles his arms around my waist.
Not taking his eyes off my face, he expertly ties the apron behind me. His hands drift lower from my back to my behind.
“I didn’t know you in my T-shirt would be such a tempting sight,” he says while kneading my soft flesh.
“The…cookies are…tempting, not me.” I arch my back, loving the feel of his gentle hands on my skin.
“I’ve tasted you, couch girl. No cookie in the world tastes as good as you.” He places a trail of kisses on my neck and shoulders, making me all warm and fluttery.
But before he can put me under his spell once more, the oven dings.
“As always, you make me forget everything, Ms. Marlin.”
Right back at you, mister, my brain silently comments.
“Does that mean I get to bake?” I ask while Zander opens the oven door.
