Page 100 of Whispered Promises

My hands fall to my hips indignantly. “I can be helpful, and I’m not that bad.”

“What about that time with the exploding porridge?”

“That was an accide⁠—”

“Or that time you tried to make custard? The omelette incident?” she rudely interrupts, listing my culinary failures like she’s got a list hidden somewhere.

“I’m an adult, and I can make my own decisions…so this is me walking out and ignoring you,” I call out over my shoulder.

THIRTY-NINE

BRYNN

“So what are we making?”

Tying the green-and-red striped apron I’d bought especially for Rosy around her waist, I try not to get distracted by being so close to the delicate slope of her neck.

“I thought we could make a mushroom and walnut pie,” I reply, dropping a kiss just below her ear before I pull away. “The pastry is already chilling in the fridge, so we can make the filling and the garlic and rosemary potatoes. There’ll be enough for you to take for lunch tomorrow too.”

“Okay, pie filling. I can do that. What do you want me to do first?”

“If you start chopping up the mushrooms and walnuts, then you can add them into that pan.” I point, then pull out the ingredients for her, before I grab the potatoes.

“You’re all flustered and terrible at this.” I laugh, unsure how someone can be this bad at cooking. All she had to do was sauté the mushrooms. There wasn’t any way it could’ve gone wrong.

Her brows pinch as she looks from the pan to me, eyes widening, and I feel…

“No, Rosy. No, no, not like that. It’s cute, honestly. You’re very cute, and I obviously gave you the wrong instructions.”

Her shoulders slump as she snorts. “There’s nothing cute about being a fully grown adult and having zero cooking skills. Actually, I think mine are in deficit. They’re getting worse with each attempt I make.” Letting go of the spoon, she covers her face. “I feel like I should’ve warned you about how bad I am at cooking.”

“Well, I think you’re cute, and luckily, you have me, so you don’t need to cook if you don’t want to,” I reassure her, tugging her hands away from her face, revealing those heart-stopping grey eyes that always have me gripped in a vice.

She hums non-committally, but that’s fine. She doesn’t need to agree with me. She’s still cute. Dragging a stool from the other side of the island, I nudge her onto it.

“How about I cook and you keep me company?”

She sighs loudly, her breath blowing a few loose strands of hair. “It’s probably for the best. Did you have a busy day today?”

Grabbing the soy sauce, I add a splash into the pan, stirring the over-caramelised onions and mushrooms. “Most days seem to be busy, but it’s easier to manage by setting an order limit each week now. That way I can stick to set hours and not get overwhelmed with too many orders.”

She hums, her legs swinging back and forth on the stool. “That makes sense. What’s your favourite thing to bake?”

Warmth tickles beneath my skin. I’ve never had someone I’ve dated be interested in my work; none of them have really considered it my livelihood. Perhaps if I decorated elaborate cakes, but since I love to bake comfort foods and have people enjoy them…it’s not worthy enough.

“Couldn’t tell you. Different things hit different needs and cravings. Whether you want spiced apple crumble when it’s cold and miserable out. Or a raspberry and lemon cheesecake when it’s sweltering hot, or a triple chocolate brownie for some reliable comfort…” I shrug.

“That. I want all of it,” she groans, and I can’t help but hope she lets me bake for her every mood, always. “Do you get bored baking and cooking all the time for people?”

Having already added the flour, I pour in some stock and stir. “No, it’s my comfort place, being in here. Do you get bored doing the rescue?”

“No, definitely not. I love it. So I can see your point. Oh, are you adding cheese too? It smells so good,” she praises, leaning forward to peer into the pan.

“Want to try it?” I add some to a spoon and turn to offer it to her.

Her mouth parts, curving around the spoon held to her lips, drawing it inside as I watch, transfixed.

The blood in my body splits, cresting like a wave and hurtling in opposite directions, with half rushing south and the rest flaming my face in embarrassment over my reaction to her.