“Fake wife,” she takes care to remind me, but I feel the way her heart rate picks up.
“Fine. Answer my question and I’ll let you go.”
Stella huffs and looks down at the macaron, quickly answering, “Blood orange and vanilla cream. I’m working on our summer menu for next year.”
I nod and let my arm slip from around her, though I swear her shoulder follows my fingertips as they drift away.
“Don’t go far,” she blurts as I take a step back. “I need you to whip some cream for me.”
“Is that a euphemism for something?”
“You wish.” She then points to a bowl with cream in it, a whisk next to it. “I’d put it in the stand mixer, but I don’t have any clean attachments at the moment.” We both glance at the dirty dishes in and next to the sink. “Get that to soft peaks for me.”
“Okay, that isdefinitelya euphemism.”
Stella laughs and it’s like music. A song I’d put on repeat for the rest of my life.
After shoving the macaron in my mouth, I pick up the whisk and get to work. I don’t know what the hell soft peaks are, but I’m sure she’ll tell me when it happens.
“What do you think of that flavor?” she asks, coming overand leaning a hip against the counter next to me. “Remind you of summertime?”
No, it doesn’t remind me of summer. It reminds me of just a minute ago, with my lips by her ear and inhaling her sweet citrus scent. It reminds me of dark Vegas clubs, of sweaty hugs after a race, of burying my face in her neck while in bed together because I simply couldn’t go another moment without feeling her skin against mine.
I swallow hard. “It’s my new favorite.”
Stella smiles and I swear I feel it deep in my chest. “Then that’s settled. It’s going on the menu.”
She turns away and goes back to whatever she was working on before. But even as I keep whisking, I can’t take my eyes off her. Seeing her in her element is exhilarating. Is this how she felt watching me on-track? If it is, I get her postrace reactions now.
“Hey, Stella?”
She glances over at me again, brow raised, expression so bright.
“Even when you find a new space to bake,” I say, “I still want you to do some of it here.”
Her smile turns teasing. “You just don’t want to miss out on being my taste tester.”
That’s not even remotely it, but I still nod. “You caught me.”
When she laughs again, I let it seep into me, savoring the champagne fizz of it through my veins.
Yeah. It’s not even a question anymore. I’ve gone and fallen for my wife.
Chapter 23
Stella
“You’re so lucky you moved to London with only a couple of suitcases. If I have to unpack another box, I’m gonna scream.”
I snicker at Janelle’s complaint as I sweep setting powder under my eyes. Her call is keeping me company while I get ready for the day, and I’m relieved we’re finally in the same time zone. Trying to coordinate with a five-hour difference at play has been tough. Poor Mika will probably keep getting accidental four a.m. phone calls from me.
“Once you’re settled in, you’ve got to come over for dinner,” I suggest. “I’ll make all your favorites.”
“God, yes, please. I told Ron I was craving biscuits and gravy and the man looked at me like he just discovered he’d married a serial killer.”
“I had the same reaction when Thomas told me his favorite dessert was something calledspotted dick.”
By the time Janelle recovers from cackling, I’m done with my makeup and out of the bathroom. “How’s living together going?” she asks. “You haven’t shown up on my doorstep yet, so I’m assuming things are good?”
