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“Until we find a new house of our own, sweetheart,” I assure her gently, running a hand through her damp hair. “It won’t be too much longer.”
“Can we have a big yard?” Peter chimes in, his previous shyness replaced by excitement for the future. “And a treehouse?”
“Of course! A treehouse sounds like so much fun,” I reply with a grin, my heart swelling at their enthusiasm. “What else do you two want in our new house?”
“Can we each have our own room?” Olivia asks, tugging on the sleeve of her pajama top, her previous fears forgotten at the thought of a brand new house. “And maybe a playroom for all our toys?”
“Absolutely,” I confirm, nodding my head. “We’ll find the perfect house for all of us, I promise.”
“Maybe it could be close to a park or a playground,” Peter suggests, his eyes sparkling with the idea. “So we can play outside after school.”
I listen attentively to their ideas, the excitement of building a new life together filling me with determination and hope. Their voices meld together in a symphony of laughter and dreams—a testament to the resilience of childhood innocence.
“Alright, now that we’ve got some great ideas for our new house, let’s go have dinner and make those Christmas cookies I promised,” I say, ushering them out of their room and toward the kitchen.
The moment we step into the kitchen, the rich aroma of pasta sauce assaults my senses, immediately setting my stomach to growling. A steaming pot bubbles on the stove, and I can see Benedict expertly stirring its contents.
“Smells amazing in here,” I say, ushering Olivia and Peter toward the living room where a cozy setup awaits them. Their eyes are glued to the television as they plop down onto the plush couch, their excited chatter about the new house fading into the background.
I turn my attention back to the kitchen, where Benedict stands beside the counter, watching me with an enigmatic smile. His muscular arms bear traces of flour from his earlier bread-making endeavors, and his gaze seems to be a challenge, daring me to join him in this sensual culinary dance.
“Ready to make some bread?” he asks, his voice low and enticing. I nod, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and he pulls the dough from where he’d set it aside to let it rise.
As I knead the dough under my hands, I steal glances at Benedict’s strong fingers, deftly handling the sticky mixture. Each movement of his hands sends a shiver down my spine, reminding me of how effortlessly he can make my body respond to his touch.
“Is this your first time making bread from scratch?” he inquires, watching me with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
“Duh,” I say sarcastically, although we both know it’s far from the truth. What kind of baker would I be if I didn’t know how to make bread?
“Good,” he purrs, moving closer until our bodies nearly touch. “I’m more than happy to teach you.”
His breath tickles the nape of my neck, sending goosebumps cascading down my arms. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on our task as the electricity between us intensifies.
“Remember, it’s all in the wrists,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with innuendo.
As we continue working side by side, the conversation shifts from food to more serious matters. “So, how did the insurance thing go?” Benedict asks, concern etched on his handsome face.
“Actually, Antonio was a great help with that,” I explain. “I guess they didn’t really want to support my claim, but Antonio didn’t give them much of a choice.”
“Antonio, huh?” Benedict’s tone holds a hint of jealousy, and I can’t help but notice the way his jaw clenches at the mention of another man’s involvement. His possessiveness both intrigues and excites me, adding fuel to the fire of our desires.
“Is everything alright?” I question, studying his expression closely.
“Of course,” he replies a bit too quickly, trying to brush off his feelings. “I’m just glad you’re getting the help you need.” Yet, there’s an unmistakable tension in his voice, revealing the depth of his emotions.
As we finish kneading the dough and separate it into pans to be baked, I can’t stop thinking about the look in Benedict’s eyes when I mentioned Antonio. The dynamic between us is shifting beyond mere physical attraction…
The steam from the boiling pot of pasta curls around my face, teasing tendrils of hair loose from my messy bun. Benedict steps closer, our bodies brushing against each other as we move in harmony, navigating the small kitchen with ease. The air is thick with the aroma of garlic, tomatoes, and simmering sauce, a symphony of flavors that heightens the charged atmosphere between us.
“Harper,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re so talented in the kitchen. I’m dying to see what else you can do.”
I glance up at him, catching the heated look in his eyes, and my breath catches in my throat. He’s so close now, his body radiating warmth, and I can feel myself being pulled into the gravity of his desire.
“Maybe one day you’ll find out,” I tease, biting my lip coyly. His gaze drops to my mouth.
“Can’t wait,” he whispers, leaning in until his lips hover just above mine, the anticipation making my knees weak. My heart races as I tilt my head, closing the space between us, aching for his touch.
“Mommy, can I taste the bread?” Peter’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, and Benedict and I spring apart, startled by the sudden intrusion.
