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“It’s still in the oven, sweetheart,” I say, trying to catch my breath and regain my composure. “Let’s wait until dinner, okay?” I ruffle his hair affectionately. He nods, scampering back to the living room where Olivia is absorbed in a cartoon.
As I turn back to face Benedict, I can’t help but let out a shaky laugh at the absurdity of the situation. We’re both a little dazed, our cheeks flushed with heat and arousal, yet there’s an undeniable connection that has only grown stronger in the wake of our interrupted moment.
I allow the children to distract me while Benedict finishes cooking dinner. When he opens the oven to pull out the fresh-baked bread we created together, a truly heavenly aroma drifts through the house.
“Alright, dinner is ready!” I announce, taking the pasta off the heat just as Olivia and Peter bound back into the kitchen.
“Yay!” they cheer in unison, their excitement contagious.
“Let’s eat,” I say, shooting Benedict one more heated look before turning to serve the children. My heart races and my thoughts swirl, filled with anticipation for what might come after we put the kids to bed.
26
HARPER
“Who’s ready to make cookies?” I ask, my voice tinged with excitement.
Olivia and Peter instantly jump up, their eyes sparkling with eagerness. I smile at their enthusiasm, the contagious energy spreading through the group like wildfire.
My gaze shifts toward Benedict, Hudson, and Antonio who are lounging on the plush couch, their relaxed postures a stark contrast to the eager energy radiating from Olivia and Peter.
“Hey, you guys,” I call out to them, my voice sultry and inviting. “You’re more than welcome to join us. It’ll be fun.”
Benedict glances over, his gray eyes smoldering with intrigue. “I haven’t made cookies in ages,” he says, rising gracefully to his feet. His tall, lean frame exudes a quiet confidence.
Hudson follows suit, stretching his broad shoulders before sauntering over. A playful smirk tugs at his lips, revealing the dimples that make my heart race. “Count me in too,” he declares, his deep voice resonating throughout the room.
My attention then turns to Antonio, who remains seated, idly swirling the remnants of his wine. He seems hesitant, reluctant to partake in our lighthearted endeavor. His dark, brooding eyes meet mine as if questioning the purpose behind this activity.
“Antonio?” I query softly, trying to coax him into joining us. “What about you? We’d love for you to be a part of this.”
He hesitates, his fingers tapping against the wine glass as he weighs his options. I can see the internal struggle brewing within him—the desire to let go and indulge in the simple pleasures we have planned, yet held back by some invisible force that keeps him tethered to his solitude.
“Maybe next time,” Antonio replies, his voice low and guarded. “I’ll just watch from here.”
A pang of disappointment hits me, but I respect his choice. “Alright,” I concede, my eyes lingering on Antonio for a moment longer before turning toward the others.
But they’re not willing to let him off the hook so easily. “Come on, Antonio,” Benedict says, playfully nudging his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t be such a party pooper.”
“Really, man,” Hudson chimes in, leaning against the counter with a teasing smirk. “You’re missing out on all the fun.”
I steal a glance at Antonio, who sits across the room with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark eyes flicker between us, curiosity mingling with reluctance. A part of me wants to leave him be, to respect his boundaries and give him space. But another part of me—the part that craves connection—yearns to bring him closer, to break down the walls he’s built around himself.
“Antonio,” I say softly, my voice barely audible over the laughter and chatter filling the room, “we want you here with us. Please?”
His gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment it feels as if the world stops spinning. The electricity between us is palpable, a current that surges through my veins with every beat of my heart. And then, slowly, Antonio unfolds his arms and rises to his feet.
“Alright,” he concedes, his lips curling into a small, reluctant smile.
A triumphant chorus of cheers erupts from the group, and as Antonio crosses the room to join us, I feel like we’ve just won a small victory. The chemistry we share is undeniable, a force that draws us together like magnets, and I know that in this moment, we are forging something truly special.
“Okay,” I say, clapping my hands together as the group gathers around the counter, anticipation buzzing in the air. “Let’s make some cookies.”
The room comes alive with movement as we dive into our task, each of us taking on different roles to create our sweet treats. And as our laughter mingles with the scent of sugar and vanilla, I can’t help but think that this is what life should be.
“Hey, Harper,” Antonio calls out, his voice velvety smooth, “how much sugar should we add?”
“Three quarters of a cup,” I reply, trying not to let the warmth of his tone affect me too much. “But you know what they say, a little extra sweetness never hurt anyone.”
