Page 11 of Sweet Rucking Temptation
Before I know it, my arms are laden with boxes, the rich scent of butter and sugar enveloping me. As I fumble with my wallet, I gather my courage.
"So, Liv," I begin, aiming for casual but probably missing by a mile, "I was thinking that on Saturday… since I’ve already seen the bakery… we could do something else? Outside of it, I mean."
Liv's smile widens, and she tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I'd like that, Iceman. Maybe next time, we can share just one pastry instead of the entire shop?"
I grin, feeling lighter than I have in years. "It's a date."
The moment I step into the training facility, arms laden with pastry boxes, a chorus of whoops and hollers erupts from my teammates.
"Oi, Iceman!" Josh, our scrum-half, bellows. "Did you rob a bakery or what?"
I set the boxes down on a nearby bench, trying to maintain my composure. "Just thought I'd bring in a little treat, lads."
"A little treat?" Connor, our flanker, lifts the lid of one box and his eyes widen. "Mate, this is a bloody pastry palace!"
The boys descend on the boxes like a pack of hungry wolves. I grin as I watch them dive in, their faces lighting up with each bite.
"These are incredible," mumbles Tom through a mouthful of croissant. "Where'd you get 'em?"
I hesitate for a moment, then decide to be honest. "There's this new bakery on Ponsonby Road. Dolce Vita."
"Dolce Vita, eh?" Josh wiggles his bushy eyebrows. "That wouldn't happen to be run by a certain Italian beauty, would it?"
I feel my cheeks flush. "Maybe."
The team erupts in a chorus of good-natured jeers and whistles.
"Look at our Iceman, melting for a pretty baker!" Liam chuckles, elbowing me playfully.
As I watch my teammates devour the pastries, trading jokes and friendly jabs, a warm feeling spreads through my chest. It's not just about impressing Liv anymore; seeing the joy these simple treats bring to my friends feels... right.
"So, when are you bringing her to watch practice?" Tom asks, licking sugar off his fingers.
I roll my eyes but can't hide my smile. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, mate."
As I join in the laughter and camaraderie, Liv's warm smile flashes in my mind. For the first time in a long while, I'm excited about something beyond the rugby pitch.
Saturday
I stand in front of my wardrobe, a towel wrapped around my waist, staring at my clothes like they're written in hieroglyphics. Crikey, when did choosing an outfit become so bloody difficult? My hands hover between a crisp button-down and a plain white tee, indecision gnawing at me.
"Get a grip, Snow," I mutter to myself, running a hand through my damp hair. "It's just a date, not the Rugby World Cup final."
But it's not just any date, is it? It's Liv. The thought of her smile, flour-dusted and radiant, sends a flutter through my stomach that has nothing to do with pre-match jitters.
I finally settle on the white tee – casual but not sloppy – and a pair of dark jeans that my sister swears make me look "less like a rugby brute and more like a proper gentleman." Whatever that means.
As I walk into the quaint café on Ponsonby Road, my eyes immediately find Liv. She's a vision in a flowing purple sundress, her dark curls cascading over one shoulder. For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
"Elliott!" she calls, waving me over. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost in a scrum."
I chuckle, sliding into the seat across from her. "Nah, just battling Auckland traffic. Though I'd take a scrum over rush hour any day."
There's a beat of awkward silence, and I find myself fiddling with the menu. "So, um, how was your day? Bake anything exciting?"
Liv's eyes light up. "Oh, you wouldn't believe it! I tried this new lavender honey croissant recipe, and it was a disaster at first. The dough kept..."
As she launches into a passionate description of her baking trials, complete with dramatic hand gestures, the tension in my shoulders starts to melt away. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and before I know it, we're swapping stories like old friends.
