Page 51 of The Best I Never Had

Everything in his demeanor shifts. Muscles untensing. Eyes softening. Lips twisting up. “Thank you.”

I smile back, knowing this is dangerous, but also knowing it’s right. Owen shouldn’t carry scars from me.

“How’d you learn all of this, anyway?” I ask, gesturing to the batter.

“I, um…” he starts, but can’t bring himself to finish whatever he was going to say. He clears his throat and tries again. “After my dad died, my mom wasn’t in the place to do … well, anything, really. I was worried Harrison wouldn’t have a birthday cake, so I started playing around with it. Then I fell in love with the process. When I’d come up here, Nana’s friend who’s a baker would teach me new techniques, and I’d spend the next year perfecting them before coming back to learn something new.”

He moves so confidently around the kitchen, like he was born for it. I notice he smiles more easily here. His shoulders are less tense, and his movements are more fluid as he stops the mixer and pulls out the bowl. Of all the versions of Owen I’ve seen, I think this is my favorite.

He swipes a spoon and dips it into the batter, the smallest touch. “Here, try it.”

He holds it out to me. I move closer, and I catch his Adam’s apple bob before our gazes latch. I close my lips around the spoon, my eyes never leaving his, and his breath hitches. His pupils dilate at the involuntary moan that climbs my throat at the taste. It’s delicious, just like I knew it would be.

The moment grows heavy between us, and he takes another step so our bodies are only a few inches apart. He brings his hand to my chin, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip.

“Got a bit of something there,” he whispers, raising his thumb to his mouth and sucking the batter off.

“Owen,” I whisper.

He tosses the spoon onto the counter and brings his palms to either side of my neck, dropping his forehead to mine but not closing the distance, letting us breathe the same air. The anticipation is killing me. His lips are so close to mine, and if he doesn’t close the gap, I’ll lose my mind. My hands come up, landing on his stomach and scratching lightly.

With lightning speed, Owen’s hands move to my waist, lifting me with ease onto the metal counter and stepping between my legs. A whimper that should embarrass me escapes my lips, and Owen runs his nose against mine.

“I can’t stop thinking about that kiss,” he says in a guttural voice.

“Me neither,” I pant out.

He groans. “God, I need to taste you again. Please. Please, can I kiss you?”

I love the way he begs, how his hands on each of my thighs tighten while he waits for my answer. In response, I grab his shirt, pulling his lower half flush with mine. We moan in tandem, my head tilting back so our lips brush, but I don’t say yes yet. Torturing him is too much fun, maybe my new favorite pastime.

I roll my hips and he lets out a hiss. “Thea,” he says, a warning in his voice, almost a scolding, and I wonder how far I’d have to push him before he’d turn me over his knee and punish me.

But just as the vision flashes through my mind, I hear voices on the other side of the door. My body has never gone from turned on to panicked so quickly, like I jumped off a cliff expecting the warm Florida waters, only to realize I was doing an ice plunge.

I push him away. He stumbles a few steps, staring at me in confusion until the voices break through his lust-fogged mind, too. I flip my body back over the counter—no one can accuse us of anything if there’s a literal barrier between us—but in the process I take the bowl of batter with me. It tips over, sliding across the counter space with me until it lands, upside down, on my head.

The door swings open and two middle-aged guys—carbon copies of each other—walk in. They’re tall, with the same blue-green irises I’m starting to recognize as the Ellis eyes. As I wipe the cake batter from my face, I realize that one of them, not sure which, is the drunk man who spilled his drink all over that guy at the bar.

“What’s happening here?” Twin One asks.

Owen looks over and sees me covered in cake. I expect him to freak out about us having to start over from the beginning, to scold me for screwing up his hard work, but instead he laughs, a booming bass. The largest smile I’ve ever seen spreads across his face, and I finally get to see that dimple.

“You two having a food fight in here?” Twin Two asks.

“Thea has a cake fetish,” Owen says. “Sitting in them, pouring them over her head, she’s not picky. It all gets her going.”

The twins laugh, and Owen’s smile somehow spreads even more. He looks over at me, giving me a quick wink that has my knees going weak.

“Happy to provide the entertainment,” I say, walking over to the sink. I splash away the batter from my face and wet a few paper towels, wiping away as much as possible from my hair until I can get to a shower.

“What are you two even doing?” Twin Two asks.

“We were trying to make a cake,” Owen says, with a smaller, indulgent smile sent my way. “Harrison’s baker backed out, so I’m trying to see if I can pull off a wedding cake.”

“You’re making the cake?” Twin One asks. “Fuck yeah! I love your cakes. Do you need help?”

Owen’s eyebrow quirks up. “Nope. I’ve seen what you do in the kitchen.”