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I have no idea what he’d do with it, given the chance, but I don’t want to test the theory, either.
Later, I’m spreading homemade buttercream icing along the outside of my cake, finally having ripped myself away from my husband’s glorious body, when he pushes the backdoor open, strolling inside.
Water drips from his dark hair, strands sticking to his forehead; unfortunately, he’s put that black shirt on again, as if afraid of what me seeing him in any state of undress might do.
He’s right to be afraid. I want to devour him.
Focusing on my spatula, I smooth the icing along the edges of my cake, ignoring his presence. He comes and stands beside the island, leaning one hip against the side. “I didn’t know you bake.”
“I’m sure there are a lot of things we don’t know about each other.” I glance up, meet his intense gaze, and immediately drop back to my cake. “I didn’t know you like crosswords.”
“They’re relaxing.”
“Is there a lot of stress in your line of work?”
“You know there is.” He cocks his head, eyeing me. “But not just with work, anymore.”
I swallow, nodding like I totally understand that. And maybe I do since he’s pretty obviously talking about me, but whatever. I didn’t ask him to marry me.
“Do you need help?” he asks.
Straightening my back, I push icing down toward the mouth of the pipette, considering him. “Have you ever decorated a cake before?”
“Not since…” Trailing off, he clears his throat, scratching at his chest. “Not since I was a kid.”
“Well, if you’re sure you want to help, you can go behind me and space out flowers with this pipette.” I pick up the smaller baggie filled with a light blue icing, topped with a star-shaped nozzle. “Just make sure you don’t put them too close together, or I might have to kill you.”
Taking the tool from my hands, he follows me in a circle around the bottom edge of the cake, dotting every few inches with tiny, perfect accents. He’s careful and considerate with where he places each one, and it makes my chest tighten.
Any time I tried to bake with Juliet or, at one time, my parents, they took over and ignored all my suggestions. Eventually, it became a hobby I had to do by myself.
“Thisis relaxing, too,” he says after a few moments, putting the finishing flourish on the last flower. “How long have you been baking?”
“My dad had me in the kitchen at three. Eventually, I graduated to harder stuff like scones and artisan breads, but cake is the easiest, so I make them more than anything else.”
“So, things with your dad weren’t always so bad, then?”
I look down at the counter, my gaze circling a glob of batter that didn’t make it to the pan. “Nothing’salwaysbad, right? If you look hard enough, you can find the good in anyone.”
Our eyes meet when I lift my face, an electric current pulsing between us.
“I can relate. Things with my pops have been weird for a long time.”
“Since your mom’s death, right?” He raises an eyebrow, and I smile sheepishly. “Everyone in King’s Trace knows she died before you guys moved here. I swear, I didn’t Google you.”
Nodding without answering, he swipes a finger into the icing, bringing it to his mouth. His tongue swirls around the end, tasting, and it makes my stomach tense. “Well, this is delicious, in any case. I can definitely tell you love the craft.”
Sighing, I smooth my spatula over the hole he made, covering it with more icing. “That I do.”
“What else do you love?”
My gaze slides back to him slowly, one of my brows arching. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. Is it wrong for me to want to get to know you?”
“Kinda. I mean, six months from now, none of this is gonna matter, right? So, I figure, what’s the point?”
He frowns, head whipping back like I’ve just slapped him. “You’re really sticking to that prenup.”
