Pretty Pink Ribbons (A Touch of Fate 2)

He shakes his head and steps toward me. I watch as he slowly lifts his hand and wipes it gently across my cheek. “You just smeared flour all over your face.” His hand leaves a trail of heat against my skin and when he pulls back, a part of me wants to grab his arm and insist that he keep touching me. But that might be a little much.

“Thanks,” I mumble, still breathless from his touch. “I’ve just had a really bad day.” His blue eyes are staring tenderly into mine, and I want nothing more than for him to tuck me against his big warm chest and hold me and promise that everything is going to be okay. “Like really, really bad.”

A part of me wants so badly for him to ask me what’s wrong. And not just so I have someone to talk to about it, but so that I have him to talk to about it. Logically, I know he isn’t there yet. He isn’t quite ready to make amends, and until he’s ready to make amends, he isn’t ready to learn about my diagnosis.

“Is that why my kitchen looks like a tornado went through it?” he asks, looking around the room. I nod coyly and he smiles in return. “Glad to know that hasn’t changed.”

Cocking my head, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“You,” he says, waving his hand in my direction. “Anytime you were upset—about anything—you wanted to be in the kitchen. It didn’t matter what it was, and it didn’t matter what you were making, you had to be in here.”

I slide my hands down the front of my apron. “Well, you’re right. That hasn’t changed.” We stand there staring at each other, and I can’t help but wonder what all hasn’t changed with him. In the past, when Levi was upset, he liked to be with me, and it didn’t matter what we did as long as we were together. I wonder what he does now when he’s upset.

“What are you making?” He halts our trip down memory lane and strides over to the pot that’s sizzling and popping on the stove.

I follow him, noticing that he doesn’t look quite as rumpled today as he did the other day. “You look better today,” I say, the words just falling from my mouth.

“Did I look bad the other day?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“No, you just looked stressed.”

“Mason and I have had some things going on with the business,” he says with a shrug, as if it’s not a big deal.

“Careful. It’ll spit at you,” I warn when he gets too close to the bubbling pot.

“What is it?” he asks, peering over the edge from a safe distance. They’ve been in long enough, so I pull the fried dough from the oil, one by one, and place them on a cooling rack. Picking one up, I bounce it from hand to hand, blowing on it to cool it down so it won’t burn his mouth.

“Here.” I hold the tiny chunk of heaven in my hand and Levi takes it. “Take a bite.” I grin, excited for him to try what I’ve made. He doesn’t hesitate and I watch as he bites into the crunchy layer, his eyes instantly rolling back into his head.

“Oh my God,” he moans around the food in his mouth. “This is amazing.” I pop a bite into my mouth and smile as he asks, “Can I have another one?”

I cover my mouth so he doesn’t see my half-eaten food when I answer him. “Please. Eat as much as you want. It’s your kitchen, so it’s really your food anyway.” He puts another bite in his mouth and it hits me. I shouldn’t have come here. Sure, maybe at one time I would have been welcome to come here at—I look at my watch—midnight, but I’m not sure I still have those privileges. Even though Blue is open, Flame is closed, and I had to use the key Mason gave me to get in. I really should have called first.

“I’m sorry,” I furrow my brow, hoping that he isn’t pissed. “I shouldn’t have just come in here like this.” I shake my head at my lack of consideration. “I wasn’t thinking. I needed to clear my head and this seemed like the perfect place.” Levi swallows his food and watches me intently as I keep talking. I can tell that he wants to ask me what I’m talking about, but he doesn’t. “I couldn’t be alone at home because Mia and Benny were there. So I came here . . . out of habit, I think, but I still shouldn’t have come. Or at the very least I should have called you first. I’m really—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts softly. “You were going to make me samples of some desserts anyway”—he peeks in the oven—“and by the looks of it, that’s exactly what you did.” When his eyes meet mine again, he looks happy, not unlike the way he looked last night at Blue but far different from how he looked the night he hired me.

“That’s it? You’re not mad?”

“No,” he laughs. “I’m not mad. Now show me what else you’ve got.” He’s really thrown me for a loop. It’s not that I expected him to be furious, but with our history and the less than warm welcome I initially received, I anticipated a little bit more of an argument. But don’t get me wrong, I’ll take this. Plus, I get the impression he’s trying to take my mind off what’s bothering me . . . and it’s working, so I’m going to go with it.

“Okay.” I walk across to the counter where my creations are and hand Levi a fork. I slide the first dessert in front of him. “This is tiramisu.” He dives right in and I giggle at his eagerness. Levi always did have a sweet tooth. “It’s a classic dessert that’s easy to make and I think your patrons would love it.”

“It’s so good,” he says, sliding the fork into his mouth again. My eyes stray to his lips and I watch as they lock around the utensil, sliding it out ever so slowly, ensuring that he doesn’t miss one morsel of his bite. I blink, my lips parted, as his tongue slides over his bottom lip and—

“What are these?”

“What’s what?”

“These,” he says, lifting up the container and waving it in front of my face.

“Oh, those. Yes.” I clear my throat, slightly embarrassed that I just lost my train of thought watching a man eat—then again, it’s not just any man. I’m hoping that Levi didn’t notice, or maybe he’s just gentlemanly enough to not mention it. “These little darlings are Espresso Cream Pies. Here, try one.” I lift the container and he pulls one out, his eyes dancing like he’s in heaven.

“This,” he says with conviction, pointing to the tiny pie. “This is fabulous. I want these on the menu.” A small bubble of hope forms inside of me, and for the first time in I don’t know how long, I find myself getting excited about something.

“Wait!” I run over to the oven and pull open the door, first checking to see if it’s done. This is the one that’s important and I need it to be perfect. Pulling the pan out, I set it on the stove. Levi walks over and stands next to me. His eyes lock on the pie in front of us and he stares at it blankly for several seconds before looking at me.

“Is that . . . ?”