Page 46 of Run Omega Run
Around us, the children continued their assignments with growing confidence. Loubie Lou had stood on a chair and appointed her rabbit as assistant stirrer, positioning it to supervise her work while she wielded her spoon with serious determination, all while Susie helped keep her from falling or tipping the pan over.
"Perfect," I said as Heather found her own rhythm with the onions, no longer needing my guidance but accepting it when I offered minor adjustments. "Now we build layers. Garlic next, then herbs, then the tomatoes that will become the soul of our sauce."
The main course came together with the kind of organic collaboration that made professional kitchens feel like orchestras when everything clicked into place. Heather's movements became more confident as she learned to trust the process, her careful stirring creating a foundation that would support everything else we added. The children rotated through tasks, tasting and adjusting, learning that cooking was as much about patience and attention as it was about following recipes.
By the time we reached dessert preparation, the kitchen had transformed into something that felt less like work and more like celebration. Flour dusted every available surface, herbs perfumed the air, and laughter punctuated the steady rhythm of chopping and stirring.
"Now for the finale," I announced, pulling out ingredients for what had been my grandmother's signature dessert—delicate pastries that required precision but rewarded it with layers of flavor that lingered long after the last bite. "Everyone needs to gather round for this part. Pastry-making is a group effort."
I showed them the technique for kneading butter into flour, creating the foundation that would become a flaky, tender crust. The process required cold hands and gentle pressure, working the ingredients just enough to combine them.
"Like this?" Heather asked, mimicking my motions with flour that puffed slightly with each fold of her hands.
"Exactly like that," I confirmed, moving to help Tomas with his smaller portion while keeping one eye on Heather's progress. "You're a natural."
The flour container sat between us as we worked, both of us reaching for it to dust our hands or adjust the consistency of the dough. The children had arranged themselves around the table, each working on their own small portion of pastry while chattering about the meal we'd created.
It was Loubie Lou's excitement that caused the accident. She gestured enthusiastically while describing the rabbit's opinion of our cooking, her small elbow catching the edge of the flour container just as both Heather and I reached for it simultaneously.
The impact sent a white cloud blooming between us like a small explosion, flour catching the afternoon light streaming through windows and creating a moment that felt suspended outside normal time. I felt the powder settle on my shoulders, dust my hair, and then I saw the way it had painted Heather's face with streaks of white that somehow made her look both ridiculous and beautiful.
Our hands had collided in the reaching, and now they remained connected while flour drifted around us like snow that had forgotten winter was months away. Her eyes were wide with surprise, then crinkled with genuine laughter that I hadn't heard from her before.
Without thinking, I reached out with my free thumb to brush flour from her cheek. The powder was soft under my finger, but her skin was softer, warm and smooth and carrying that strawberry scent that seemed to intensify under my touch.
Time slowed, and the kitchen noise faded to background whispers while I traced the line of flour from her cheekbone toward her jaw, my thumb moving with a deliberate slowness that had nothing to do with removing powder and everything to do with memorizing the feel of her skin.
Her breath caught, a slight sound that I felt more than heard. Our scents thickened in the air, until the combination felt likesomething new and beautiful, something that belonged only to this moment, the woman before me and the possibility of the future building between us.
Her pupils dilated as she breathed deeper, and I caught the way her lips parted as if she were about to say something important. My hand lingered against her face, thumb still resting against the curve of her cheek while the flour continued to settle around us.
The children's delighted giggles broke through our suspended moment. Heather stepped back, color flooding her cheeks, and her hand moving unconsciously to touch the place where my thumb had been.
"Sorry," she mumbled, busying herself with brushing flour from her clothes while avoiding my gaze. "I should have been more careful."
I returned to the pastry we'd been working on, the corners of my mouth raised upward like the Cheshire Cat. My hands moved, yet my attention remained fixed on her profile, on the way she'd responded to my touch, and on the scent memory that lingered in the air between us, and all I thought was, I couldn’t wait to take her home.
Chapter 19
Heather
Itouched my face without meaning to, my fingers pressing into the memory of where his hand had lingered earlier. The heat of him was gone, but my skin still burned for it, as if his touch had branded me. It hadn’t been casual. No, it had been steady, certain, and it had lit something inside me I hadn’t felt in too long.
God, I wanted it back. The way his thumb had traced over my cheek, slow and deliberate, had made my body lean toward him before I even realized what I was doing. That single caress had undone me, left me hungry for more, hungry for the tingle of his palm, the strength of his arms, the warmth of his body pressed close to mine.
