“Get out of that pretty head of yours and enjoy this night with me,” Luke says.
My gaze crawls up his arms, the slope of his shoulders, the strong line of his jaw. He catches me studying him and hums, the sound rich and low between us. “Try it,” he says, his eyes flickering to the festive paper cup in my hands, but it feels more like he’s prompting me to try something else.
I lift it to my lips, welcoming the scent of ginger, cinnamon, and chocolate, before taking a small sip. The liquid is still hot but not enough to burn me. As it flows down my throat, a smile tugs at my lips from the delicious flavor.
“It really does taste like a gingerbread cookie but somehow…different. It’s incredible.”
We start walking, waving goodbye to Emma and her family as they hop into a carriage together. While Luke is distracted, I take the opportunity to study him, at how the streetlights paint his face in the shadows of golds, silvers, greens, and reds.
All the beautiful pieces of him that I had convinced myself not to notice are on full display. Pieces of him that have always been there. Parts I refused to acknowledge because I knew if I did, I’d never be able to deny my feelings for him.
I need to get a grip on myself.
“Want to try mine?” He grins, already pushing his cup toward me.
“You should know the answer to that.”
We trade cups, and I savor the flavors of dark chocolate and cherry as they hit my taste buds. It’s delicious, inspiring an idea for a dessert I want to try to make when we get back home.
“Want to trade? This is amazing,” he suggests, taking another sip.
“I do, actually.”
His grin turns into a smirk as he says, “You just got a new idea for a dessert, didn’t you?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“No. I just know you.” The weight of his stare bolts down my spine.
“Yeah. I guess you do.” A swooping sensation builds in my stomach.
“What’s the idea?”
“Hmm?” I’m clearly distracted.Again.
“For the dessert?”
“Oh, um…” I pause, taking a moment to breathe. “Dark-chocolate-and-cherry macarons, a chocolate tart topped with cherries, a dark-chocolate-and-cherry sauce I can add to my croissants.”
His eyes widen in surprise. “You got all those ideas from one sip of my drink?”
“Yup.” I shrug my shoulders, grunting when he grabs the drink from me and takes another gulp. He smacks his lips together, studying the flavors, and chuckles to himself.
“You’re amazing, Olivia Gray.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Luke Beckett.”
He’s staring at me so intently, like he’s attempting to memorize this moment, and I do the same because I want to cherish this moment too. It’s an exhilarating feeling, to know that I’m not the only one wanting to collect these memories and pocket them, hoarding them like little treasures I want to revisit.
It hasn't been fake. Not for me, anyway.
My skin flushes hot at the memory of his words, warmth pools low in my belly, and that familiar buzz of anxiety fills my veins. I part my lips to say something, but I’m cut off as he says, “Come on. Follow me.” Luke starts speed-walking, tugging me behind him, weaving us through the crowd until we’re in front of the ice-skating rink.
“When you're finished with your hot chocolate, I want to take you ice skating.”
“I can’t ice skate,” I admit, raising a brow.
“I can’t either.” He laughs, bringing his cup to his lips, and gulps the rest of his drink. “Let's try something new together.”
