Page 67 of The Baby Dragon Bakery
They stayed on the phone a little longer, until Lavinia went down to dinner with her family. He brought his plate over to the sink, washing the dirty dishes from dinner, and as he lathered his plate with soapy water, the events of the day truly sank in.
It felt real now, talking it through with Lavinia, and he felt jittery. This was a big step and, while he was excited, he was nervous, too.
It was scary thinking about the future, getting old, and he didn’t know what was going to happen or what was best. The only thing he knew for sure, truthfully, was that his future would include Lavinia. It had to.
He couldn’t live without her, which meant that he needed to stop all of this yearning. It was making him miserable, and it was affecting his relationship with Lavinia, he knew it was. And that was something he could not allow.
Later at night, while he tried to fall asleep, he tossed and turned in bed. He thought of the kiss he had shared with Lavinia, all of these other moments between them, and it was maddening.
He loved her. He loved her so much that it physically hurt. There was no denying it or running from it.
She was all he thought about, every moment of every day. He wanted to be around her constantly, and it was obvious, so glaringly obvious that he was in love with her. He knew that these feelings had been deep inside him for a long time, taking root and growing, and now he was overcome by them.
And she was with someone else.
He couldn’t believe his own stupidity or blindness, how he had never seen the shape of his own feelings, had never seen the depth or strength of them.
Maybe he really didn’t deserve her because he couldn’t see that the best thing had been right in front of him this whole time.
And now it was too late.
Chapter 24
On Monday, Lavinia went to Theo’s immediately after she finished her anatomy midterm.
She had seen him for about two seconds on Saturday, when he had come to drop off the fried kulfi falooda. She had taken time off from the Baby Dragon to study, and when Theo came by, she had only said hello, barring herself in her room after.
She told herself it was because she had too much studying to do, but she knew that the real reason she stayed away was because she still felt too raw from the heated moment they had shared in his bed. While they had talked on the phone, she didn’t trust herself to be around him.
But on Monday, her brain was pretty much mush after the anatomy exam, and she didn’t have it in her to fight with herself. The second the exam was over, she didn’t think; she texted Theo that she was coming and drove over, knowing he would be home from the Rolling Pin by then.
She still had to study for her pharmacology exam on Thursday, but she needed a break. And sweets. She desperately needed sweets.
Which was exactly what she said to Theo when he opened the door.
“You’d better bake me something, or else,” she threatened, entering his apartment. She tossed her tote bag on the ground and kicked off her shoes, going to collapse onto his couch before he had even shut the front door after her.
“It’s good to see you, too,” he said, talking to the air. “No, I’m doing fine, thanks for asking. Please, make yourself comfortable!”
“Oh shut up.” She lifted her head to look at him. He snorted. “I amdying,” she said dramatically. “My blood sugar levels aredangerouslylow. This is not the time forsarcasm.”
“Your blood sugar levels are probably never low,” he replied. “You have a million stores of sugar in there.”
She furrowed her brows. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”
He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “Hey, the last biology class I took was in high school. You should know more than me.”
“I would, but my brain is fried,” she said, sitting up. She rubbed her temples. “Now, please, sugar!”
He laughed, and she was glad to see the bruises from the football match from last week had mostly faded. He looked much better now, happy to see her.
“Alright, alright,” he said, heading to the kitchen. “How about I make you some hot chocolate?”
“Mmm, yes please!” He had a complicated homemade recipe that took forever to make but always came out perfect. She followed him to the kitchen. “Even though it is way too early for hot chocolate.”
“Is it?” he asked, grabbing a saucepan out of the drawer. “It’s the first week of November.”
“Which is too early,” she affirmed. She jumped up and sat on the counter perpendicular to where he was working at the stove, and he looked over his shoulder at her. “Hot chocolate is for December through February, duh. There is a system for these things, you know.”
