Page 17 of Knotty, Nice, & Holiday Lights
Every. Time. I need to remember to announce my entrances so I don’t give this guy a heart attack.
Will turns to me with a huge grin, letting me see his happy face and absolutely adorable Thanksgiving-themed apron, black with a cute cartoon turkey covering the whole front, holding up a steaming pie with one wing.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he says, those blue eyes so sincere. “You can be my taste-tester.”
My body bounces at the prospect, and I’m all smiles as I near him. “Put me and my belly to work!”
His laugh is melodious as he turns to a cabinet, retrieves a plate, then heads to his baking sheets and starts placing one cookie from each sheet onto it. Six cookies meet my wide eyes before he slides the plate onto the kitchen island, along with a napkin. “Milk?”
My gaping face gives an affirmative nod, and he chuckles his way to the fridge. Once I have my glass of moo-juice, I look up at him, head shaking in disbelief. “What’s all this for?”
His head tilts, those beautiful eyes getting a faraway look. “Thanksgiving is in a few days, and it’s a tradition here in Crescent Lake for us to cook and bake up a storm. We have volunteers with trucks bring the food and sweets to a couple of local soup kitchens and food banks outside of town. Trucks will be by tomorrow to start picking up donations.” That warm smile of his lights up his face again. “I wanted to bake this year, givemy mom’s old recipes a workout. But I need to know that I made them right, so you can be my taste tester.”
I let out a laugh, letting go of noticing the glimpse of sadness that darkened his eyes at the mention of his mom. He seems determined to stay positive, and I’ll respect that. For now.
That Crescent Lake is so wholesome and kind, getting the whole town together to help the less fortunate, makes warmth blossom in my chest, and my eyes grow hot.
Trying to keep it together, I assess the cookies on my plate as a distraction.
Good old chocolate chip. Sugar. One that I think is peanut butter. A chocolate cookie with white chunks and bits of what I think are almonds. A soft-baked oatmeal. And a small spherical cookie, flat on the bottom, covered in cinnamon and sugar, which I point at. “What kind of cookie is that? I’ve never seen one before. It smells really good.”
He gets that somewhat sad look in his eyes again, and I wish I’d never asked. The compulsion to wrap him in my arms and chase that sorrow away comes over me like madness, and one of my hands clench with the effort not to be inappropriate with someone I hardly know.
“Those arepan de polvo.My dad’s favorite.”
Sadness. At the mention of Will’s mom. Of his dad.
I swallow my questions, file them for later, and force a smile at my awaiting cookies before taking a bite of each, followed by sipping my milk, letting the delicious flavors bring me joy. Once I’ve tasted each of them, I peer up at Will after another sip of milk. “You, sir, are a Baking King.”
The smile that breaks across his face is bright as a star. “Really?”
It’s like he doesn’t believe me. That’s crazy!
“Yes,” I tell him firmly. “All of these are amazing. But I’ll tell you something,” I go back to the little spherical cookie, poppingthe last of two bites into my mouth. “Your dad’s favorite is my new favorite.”
Those sapphire eyes glisten in the overhead lights, and that uncontrollable urge to wrap him in my arms overtakes me again. So, I hop off the barstool and place my hands on my hips to break the gloomy vibe my running-mouth always seems to create when it comes to Will.
“Now, gear me up with an apron so I can help.”
Chapter Ten
Idon’t think I’ve ever met a woman who manages to look both extremely cute and devastatingly sexy at the same time.
Before Izzy, that is.
She wraps the ties of the festive apron I’ve handed her, the cartoonish autumn leaves falling all around across the burnt umber cloth, and smiles up at me with a clap.
“Put me to work!”
With a huff of laughter, I do just that, laying out the recipe for Mom’span de polvocookies and letting her measure out the dry ingredients into a giant mixing bowl, while I handle the wet ingredients in a smaller one.
When flour puffs up into the air and sprays all over the front of her apron, and around it onto her dark green shirt, she stands frozen and wide-eyed, lips parted. The rumble of laughter in mychest is impossible to stop, and I press my lips between my teeth to at least try to keep quiet, only managing to nearly spit my laugh instead when her gray eyes fall on me and those lush lips purse.
“I… I am so sorry,” I manage between my laughter. “You just…” I shake my head before heading to the sink to dampen a towel and return to Izzy. Gently, I wipe the white powder from her chin and cheeks, then her hair, stopping short of wiping the front of her body down.
The fact that I want to so badly sobers me. Part of my brain screams how creepy that is, and that she’s a total stranger and doesn’t know me, while my body longs to pull her close, touch her skin with my fingertips…
Instead, I hand her the dampened towel, which she takes with an embarrassed smile, turning her back on me to wipe herself off.
