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Nora’s light laugh sounds out through the kitchen, making me smile. “You did. Clever boy. You get the gold star today.”
I narrow my eyes at her but she’s not paying attention, too busy mixing the eggs into the butter. As soon as she touches the flour to add some into the bowl, I get a wicked idea, one that I know she’ll hate. “Nora?”
“Hm?” she says whilst she’s bending down to weigh another ingredient.
“Nora?”
Her head snaps up. “What, Grayson?” Her brown eyes are wide as I throw some flour directly at her face. It puffs out across her cheek and ear before it floats down over her jumper. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she scolds.
My shoulders vibrate with laughter. “I had to. It’s the rules for baking cakes.”
She dives her hand into the flour and throws some at me too, landing it in my hair. “Oh, that’s it.” My hands grab more flour and I round the island to get a really good hit in, smashing a handful into her hair too. She leans forwards grabbing another handful when she turns to me, her face half covered in white flour, I let out a loud laugh just as she slaps both of her hands on either side of my face and all I can see is white clouds floating in front of my eyes.
Her small, warm hands are still covering my cheeks when the flour settles. I look at her, close up, enjoying the way her nose twitches from the dust. Her lips are framed by the flour too, highlighting just how full they are, how soft I remember that they are. I exhale a breath and the cloud of powder that shoots from my lips has her stepping backwards, giggling and coughing.
Her laugh is a melody of sweet and soft sounds, filling the kitchen with an emotion that I’m betting she doesn’t feel enough. The joy radiating from her right now swells something in my chest, because when she smiles, fuck, she could light up entire cities. And I’m the reason she’s got that look on her face and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t fill me with sunshine too. I make women laugh all the time. I’m a funny guy, so why does it feel like I’ve just singlehandedly won the fucking rugby six nations cup?
She arches a brow. “You okay? You look weird.”
Fuck I do?“I don’t. You look weird.”
Good one, man.
She takes two small steps closer to me, a look of pure satisfaction on her face as she reaches out to brush my nose free of more flour. “Hmm, if I wasn’t mistaken, Grayson King, I’d say you’re falling for me.”
I laugh it off because what the fuck am I supposed to say? I have no idea what I looked like or what I felt. I was happy that she was happy, and that’s probably the first time I’ve ever felt that way about anyone. Am I freaked? Yeah, my heart is beating a little erratically, but I’m not about to ruin this day for her and leave in a blind panic or blurt out any unnecessary declarations.
I shake my head like a dog getting out of water and watch as more powder floats around. Nora chuckles, dusting herself off. Something passes between us that ripples in the air like static electricity, both of us freezing as if we are feeling it at the same time. Nora makes quick work of going back to her mixing, and the machine she turns on makes enough noise to drown out the sudden awkward silence.
When the machine stops, Nora deftly scoops the mixture out into a tray I hadn’t seen her prep and she swipes it into the oven with a clang.
“You’re on clean up,” she says without looking at me. I hear her footsteps trailing up the stairs as I plonk the bowl into the sink and have to think really hard aboutnotfollowing her.
Chapter 13
Nora
I’mtryingreallyhardto keep my cool, but Grayson keeps pushing me out of my comfort zone. I’m not talking about the list either. I’m talking about the zone where we’re barely friends, frenemies are probably more accurate, and we have teasing banter that leads nowhere because we both know thatwewouldn’t work. Or at least that’s what I thought before his stupid self kissed me in the lift and now I’m confused. My ‘keep it cool’ factor completely going out the window whenever I get within a foot of him.
Did I ever have any cool factor? Debatable.
It's entirely his fault for kissing me in the first place. Grayson’s default setting is sex though, so I guess I can’t really blame him. Except I am, I very much am. I blame him for fogging my brain with his dick and his big soft lips that I can’t stop looking at. It’s his fault that my heart flip-flops in my chest when I smell his bergamot scent and I hate him a little bit more for that. Except I’m lying. I don’t hate him at all. I’m actually seeing different sides to him, and I want to see more, know more about him. The connection between us is palpable but I want to feel more from him, to figure out why he doesn’t want a relationship and I think he’d run a mile if he knew that.
I rake my hands through my hair, shaking out any remaining flour, hoping it doesn’t stay this white all day. I splash cold water over my face, ridding my skin of that horrible dusty feeling before I search my wardrobe for another pair of jeans and jumper.
When I’m dressed, I catch my reflection in the mirror; my cheeks are flushed and my hair still has a slight white tinge to it, but I don’t have time to wash it again. I quickly pop some tinted moisturiser on and a lick of mascara and make my way back downstairs just in time for the oven to beep, telling me the cake is done.
The sweet cocoa smell is filling the whole house, reminding me of my mum’s chocolate cake she’d make us all the time when we were kids. The memory of Jess and me scoffing the entire cake makes me smile as I walk into the kitchen.
“Something’s beeping and I can’t stop it,” Grayson flaps around, searching for the off button.
I press the alarm button on the oven and open it, and my nose is immediately hit with a stronger smell of chocolate, gooey goodness. I inhale deeply, letting the sweet, buttery goodness melt over me.
“Fuck, that smells good,” Grayson purrs from behind me. I plunge my hands into the oven mitt and take the cake out.
“Can you pass me the toothpicks from the cupboard up there?”
He reaches up, his t-shirt riding up slightly, giving me a flash of his bronzed stomach and making my breath hitch. I tear my gaze away when he turns to me, passing me the box.
