Page 32 of The Likelihood Of You

“Oh, fucking fuck!!” I yelled over the noise, scrambling down from the stool and moving towards the oven. They were only supposed to proofbake for ten minutes, and as I looked at the time on the stove, it became clear they’d had just a tad longer than that—twenty-two minutes, to be exact.

I reached for the oven door, but before I could free the pastry cases, Jacob shouted something at me. I couldn’t make it out, so I opened the oven door anyway.

Which was a big mistake. Huge.

“Florence no!!” I could hear his words loud and clear this time, because he’d grabbed my hand and yanked me away from the oven door just in time before the black cloud of smoke was unleashed, like a sandstorm from the depths of hell.

I didn’t have time to take in how his firm grip felt so right on my skin because, to make matters even worse, it turns out Jacobs’ swanky kitchen was also fitted with a sprinkler system, purely for the idiots like me who get distracted easily by baking talk and accents.

“Oh, come on!” Jacob exclaimed, releasing my hand and stepping around me. I didn’t know what he was doing, I assumed he was going to turn off the sprinklers, which had already made me look like I’d just stepped off a shitty log flume ride with no waterproof protection, but he never made it past the oven door.

I felt him latch onto me again as he slipped on the tiles beneath his feet, dragging me down with him. A tiny squeal slipped out of my mouth as I fell, landing somewhere that didn’t feel like wet tiles a second later.

Even though the smoke had truly overtaken the kitchen, it was easy to figure out where exactly I’d landed. The bumps and valleys from his chest were moulding with mine, our legs were tangled, and our faces alarmingly close to one another.

A few moments passed before I collected myself, the fog clearing slightly thanks to the water, and slowly brought my eyes down to meet his, my heart beating way too fast for my liking. So hard he could probably feel it.

I’d expected him to be avoiding eye contact just as I had done with him, but he was looking at me. His eyes wide, long lashes wet, and rosy lips slightly parted.

My body had never dealt with a stare as intense as his, and it made me think; is he overthinking me the same way I'm overthinking him?

A part of me hoped so.

Despite his wide-eyed gaze, his expression didn’t give anything else away about what he was feeling in that moment. But before I could even consider what was running through his head, a small smirk emerged on his face, which quickly turned into a smile. His eyesscrunched shut, his nose creased, and to my amazement, he burst out laughing.

An overwhelming sense of calm washed over me, making my body relax onto him in a way I should have been scared of. But at that moment, it was like I’d never known what it was to be scared.

His laugh was the perfect mediator for this situation. It alleviated every smidge of awkwardness and tension that was mingling with the fog in the air. When I mirrored his reaction and laughed, too, my entire body released an internal sigh of relief, making my now steadily beating heart happy.

He really was a breath of fresh air. Had this happened with anyone else, had anyone else let me borrow them and their kitchen for me to frolic around in and then almost burn down, they’d have probably sent me packing and two days later, I’d have received a cleaning bill for the mess I’d made.

And by anyone else, I may or may not be referring to Hugo’s parents. Christmas Eve, 2019…a very dark day indeed. Let’s just say their Kensington townhouse would have been the catalyst for the reboot of the Great Fire of London had they not had the fire department base not been around the corner.

So the fact that he found it hilarious made me look at this man with even more wonder than I had ten minutes ago.

Our laughter slowly collapsed, leaving us silent again, but the waterfall and incessant beeping still echoed and dripped around us. Both with hazy smiles, we managed to get to our feet, made easier by Jacob holding out his hand to pull me upright.

Once he’d pulled me up, he nipped out of the kitchen and after a second or two, the beeping stopped, or I’d gone deaf, and the waterstopped falling. When he returned, I was over by the oven, admiring the pitch-black pastry cases that were definitely no longer edible. I felt Jacob behind me before I saw him.

“So much for my Bakewell Tart virginity being taken then.” He laughed, and I straightened my back and turned to face his proud smile.

“Oh please, you know what they are. I bet you make them better than I do.”

“Clearly.” He joked, pointing at the disgrace to my homeland sitting in his oven.

I let out a sorry laugh. “Jacob, I’m really sorry about… well-” I waved my hand around. “-this. Please let me clean this before I go. I really am sorry for forgetting about them—”

“Hey! It’s okay… I promise.” He lifted his arms to my shoulders, placing a palm on each one, warming them up like heating pads. “Webothforgot about the cases, not just you.” He said softly, making any ounce of panic drop off me like the other water droplets were.

Before I realised what he was doing, I felt one of his hands move away from my shoulder, and like an open flame had kissed my cheek, he brushed it gently and tucked the piece of hair that was stuck to my face behind my ear, leaving a trail of embers on my freezing skin.

“Let’s get to work.” He said, but it felt like a whisper, as he turned around and entered the pantry towards the back of the kitchen.

All I could do was stand there and question whether tonight had actually happened, or whether I’d fallen asleep on the recliner chair in the assistant lounge whilst working up the courage to speak to him.

Tonight certainly felt like a dream.

Chapter twelve

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