Page 74 of Words We Didn't Say

Don’t serve my future daughter-in-law an underbaked loaf of bread.

Remember, no soggy bottoms!

“All good?” Zach’s hands were stuffed in white oven mitts, and he held a bread pan. Before I could even get through a full nod, a new message popped up.

Mum

Don’t let that no-neck rugby goon get his baguette in her oven before you do!

My eyes bulged. Shock burst the laughter out of me.

Zach’s eyebrow rose.

“Your”—I swiped a tear from my lashes—“mum.”

His face turned whiter than the oven mitts. “Oh, God.” The pan clattered onto the stovetop, and he scrambled to strip off the mitts before racing to my side and grabbing the phone. His eyes darted over the screen. “No.” His skin turned scarlet. “Ohno.Y-You read this?”

“Every last word.”

“So, ah—” Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and forced a smile. “Yeah, that’s Mum for you.” He messed around with the buttons on his phone. “Okay, the phone’s off. I vote we forget any of that ever happened.”

“Sorry, no can do. I need to report back to Maree about the status of the soggy bottom. However”—I grinned—“I could be swayed to spare her the details of where your baguette does—or does not—end up by the end of this evening.”

Zach grunted. “I appreciate your generosity. What are your terms?”

I nodded at the discarded bread pan. “What type of bread did you make?”

“Sourdough.”

If he hadn’t ducked his head so quickly, he would’ve seen the enormous smile overtaking my face.

“That’s my favourite,” I said.

He nodded. He knew. He wanted to prove things would be different this time. It was working. My heart was diving in loop-de-loops, giddy, ready to pack up my new apartment and move right back in with him. Too bad the cynical side of me wasn’t convinced. It was easy enough for Zach to spoil me with a nice meal. The greater challenge for him—both of us, really—was how we handled when life smashed us with bigger issues than a few awkward messages or choosing what bread to bake.

I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Consider me swayed.”

Zach beamed a smile. His cheeks still a dark pink, he directed his shyness into sliding the glass of wine along the countertop to me and returning to his salad prep. Off he went, chopping his tomatoes, dicing the onion, and moving on to a piece of celery. I tipped back a sip of wine and peeked at him over the rim of the glass. The sweet tingle did nothing compared to the zing shooting through me as I drooled over Zach’s muscular forearm at work. I reached out and traced my fingertip along the corded muscle. It wasn’t my fault. His sexy forearmbeggedme to do it.

Zach sucked in a sharp breath. The knife paused, and a cautious glance turned from the corner of his eye.

Gorgeous.

My tongue darted over my bottom lip as I let my hand wander a little higher to his bicep. “It’s a crime you were born so sexy.”

His laugh was nervous. “I wasn’t born looking like this.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “I shot up like a bean sprout. I don’t think I had a pinch of fat on me until I was at least twenty…despite my mother’s best efforts to fill me out.”

“Where’d you get all these yummy muscles then?”

“The same way everyone else does.” He tried to steady his breathing as my finger explored all the pretty veins that patterned his skin. “Working out.”

Huh?“You go to the gym?”Since when?“Not just for herb deliveries?”

Zach laughed. “I go a couple of times a week on my lunch break. Well…usedto. Work has been nuts lately, so I’ve skipped most of my sessions. I should try getting back in the habit. Maybe I will after the announcement.”

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