Hank covers her hand with his palm, and I witness a tight expression soften with a surprising slow smile. She’s melting him like ice. No man is immune to her ways. “That's very kind of you, sweetheart. I’ll look forward to eating them.”
“Right then. Let’s get baking.” She tightens the band wrapping her ponytail and then smooths out the old apron I found in one of the drawers. She clicks on the radio and fiddles with the roll of parchment.
At this moment, I wonder if she understands what she’s capable of. How the little things she does are hooking me in and how I can’t bring myself to acknowledge the fact she’ll never be a permanent addition in our lives. Every second with her isn’t enough, I want another and another.
Hank lifts his chin in a quick gesture before leaving the room, and we’re alone together again. She slides the oats behind the honey, and then turns to me. “What do you want me to do first?”
Oh hell, the way she’s looking at me is dangerous. “We need to measure out all the ingredients.”
Summer nods. Her eyes sparkle like the moon at night. “I’m on it.”
“The recipe is right there on the table, in the notebook. I have the page marked.” My mother’s tired, handwritten recipe book lays open. I haven’t leafed through it in years, until earlier. The pages look the same as they did back then, it’s me who has changed. “If you can’t read the writing, let me know.”
“I can read it just fine, thanks.” She hums along with the low music in the background.
“Fancy a beer?”
“I don’t drink beer, there’s gluten in most of them.”
“Right.” I flick on the kettle to make her a coffee instead and then grab a cold beer from the fridge. The lid pings on the counter, bringing her eyes up. “So, you never baked with your mother?” I ask before taking a swig.
Summer shakes her head, swishing her ponytail. “Nope. She’s not like that. We do other stuff together, like visiting the spa. When I was younger, we went shopping all the time.” She reaches for the box of raisins. “My mother isn’t quite the homemaker. Our house was decorated by an interior designer called Francis, and my clothes are washed and pressed by a local laundry company. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”
“I like apple pies.”
“Do you, indeed?” Summer pops a tiny raisin between her teeth. “That's my favorite dessert, with custard,” she adds around a mouthful of chewed raisin.
I nod in agreement. “The pie has to be warm, and I like a scoop of ice cream with mine.”
The sound of delight coming from her throat is like a mating call for my dick. This woman could cough, and I’d find it sexy. The way we’re looking at each other has me all flustered, so I keep on drinking, to the point that I’ve drained the whole beer in two seconds flat.
“Maybe we could make a pie too?” she suggests. “I can buy some apples in the local fruit shop when I’m in town next. Is there a recipe in the notebook?” She turns the page to the next handwritten title. “Although, as much as I love custard, I can’t eat it. Don’t worry, I’ll buy you some.”
“I’m sure you could have a small dollop.” I’ve never thought about a woman in the kitchen as being something that would turn me on. With a narrow waist cinched with apron strings and her presence filling the entire room, I’m taken over by the idea of fucking her on the table. There’s no way it's going down like that, not with my dad in the next room. I have to keep this tension in check and my dick under wraps.
“Let’s figure out if we’re good at making cookies first, before we commit to apple pie.” I’m onto my second beer, and she’s got a streak of flour on her cheek.
“I think we’ll make amazing cookies together, Hayden.” The flirty grin doesn’t go unnoticed.
“I’ll let you know after I’ve tasted them.” I smirk.
Summer grabs the small box of baking soda and holds it up. “Baking soda?” Her lips are pouty, and a slight crease dents her forehead. “It’s a powder?”
“What did you think it was?”
“I used a can of soda.” My laughter hasn’t a hope in hell of staying quiet. As it breaks free, Summer giggles with me. “I’ll have to pass on the domestic goddess title,” she sputters.
“There are plenty of other titles you can have.”
“Oh yeah, name one.”
“I’ll have to think of some. If these cookies work out, then you might win the title of cookie goddess.”
Her smile drops. “So, you don’t think I deserve that title after the last batch?”
Shit. Here we go. I’ve messed up. I almost feel like hunkering down and waiting for the explosion to hit. “Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean…”
“Hayden, don’t look so uneasy.” The next thing I know, she's right there before me with that floral scent and those cornflower blue eyes all over me. “I’m joking. They were my first attempt and as my father always says, ‘every expert starts out as a beginner’.” Her touch is soft and welcomed, her skin glowing. “I know they need a little tweak to make them awesome. I think that extra ingredient is you.”
