Hearts Like Ours | Red View Romance #1

🍏 Eighteen

Layla woke to the aroma of cinnamon and baking dough, a scent that followed her outside through the manor's open windows when she left for her morning run with Kenzie and Marshall. She knew it meant that Dawson was busy inside, whipping up something that had her mouth watering.

She managed to keep herself away from the kitchen long enough to take a shower and change into a linen button-up and a pair of loose, ripped jeans. Her parents had thought her packing seemed excessive, but she was glad she ignored their advice and had packed more than just workout gear and summer clothes—the dress she brought came in handy for the unexpected girls' night, and now that the weather was cooling down, she was glad to have the warmer options.

Once she was dressed, she couldn't help herself from heading downstairs, feet guiding her through the bright house towards the source of the hunger-inducing scents. Towards Dawson, she knew, which she wouldn't admit was part of the reason she couldn't stop herself from stepping into the kitchen.

He looked up at the sound of the door, hands stilling, both filled with the large blob of dough that was resting on the wax-paper covered island. The smile he gave her made her glad she was holding onto the doorframe. "Hi."

"Hi," she returned, coming all the way inside and letting the door swing behind her. She centered herself with a deep breath. So what if it was the first time they'd been alone since his confession? So what if the memory of it had her heart racing harder than it had been during the morning workout? "It smells amazing."

"Figured I'd get some pies made for the store," he explained. He looked incredibly domestic in a white apron and with a smear of flour on his cheek. The sleeves of his worn flannel were rolled up to his elbows, and Layla found herself distracted by his golden skin and the way his hands worked the dough. "Wanna help?"

She did, and it scared her. Almost as much as the realization that she wanted those hands on her,  wanted them against her skin and tangled up in her hair. It was all the more reason that she shouldn't say yes. Going in there for a quick visit was one thing, but being alone in the kitchen with Dawson for potential hours... "I would, but... I'm not so great at making food."

He tilted his head, narrow eyes studying her. "What about all those recipes you sent Kenz?"

"They're from the nutritionists my parents hire." She strolled through the room, pausing to glance into the double oven. Every rack had two pies on it, each looking like something out of a magazine. On the counter beside them, eight sat cooling, glistening and golden brown. "I try to make them, sometimes, but... Well, let's just say my smoke detector hasn't lived a quiet life."

The laugh that bubbled out of him was well worth the embarrassing confession. "How about chopping?" He nodded to the apples sitting on a cutting board at the end of the island. "You were doing fine the other day with the candles, 'till I came in and riled you up. How is that cut, anyway?"

She raised the hand that had gotten hurt to show off the healed wound, now just a fading red line. "All better."

"Good. I am sorry about that, you know. I should be glad you didn't use that knife on me."

"Well," her voice was light and joking as she stood behind the cutting board, picking up one of the apples and the knife next to them, "Since you apologized."

God, she really was helpless. But why shouldn't she stay? She could control herself, her thoughts. She'd be back in the city before she knew it, and damn it, she wanted to enjoy herself while all this lasted. Didn't she deserve an hour or two in the kitchen with Dawson, drowning in that fuzzy feeling?

It would be useless to avoid it, anyways. Even if she went upstairs and opened her laptop to work, she would only sit there and think about all the fun she might have had if she'd stayed here. She'd still be thinking about his hands whether they were a few feet away or if there was an entire floor between them and her body.