I dart toward the bathroom. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”
And true to my word, I’m in the kitchen in record time for a kiss from my husband. But he’s nowhere to be found.
I guess it’s only fair that I make something for breakfast in exchange for a kiss.
By the time Zane enters the kitchen, I’ve two steaming cups of Vienna coffee on the table for each of us, sprinkled with chocolate powder. I cut two baguette slices open and lather them with peanut butter before laying strawberry hearts on top.
Zane smells awfully delicious when he slides next to me and looks down at the two breakfast plates where there’s an avocado smiley next to bread. “Th-this can per-rk anyone’s mood.”
“Thank you,” I reply with a grin and hand him his plate.
We bring our breakfast out to the porch. The sun is up in the mountains, and the colorful fall trees are shining under the golden light. There couldn’t be a better start to this morning.
“How d-did you s-start on this?” Zane picks up a strawberry heart.
“Many years ago, I read an article in a food magazine about a Michelin star restaurant in France. They had people just to garnish a dish. Food styling wasn’t even a profession then. That’s what I want to do someday.”
When I look up at Zane, the reality of the situation comes crashing down.
“At least I wanted that until my life took this turn.” I wave my hand around.
“Dr. Allen s-said it’s possibly only a matter of a year, or maybe t-two. Many years d-down the line, you’ll tell me th-that you don’t even r-remember this year.”
This time, it’s him who’s making up all the fantasies, and I can’t help but wish they become a reality someday. Before Zane can correct himself or backpedal, I whisper, “I hope that happens someday.”
After one of the most serene breakfasts I’ve ever had, I kiss Tassels and Mystery on their noses and leave with Zane for work.
He parks outside Steamy Beans, and as I’m about to get out, Zane clears his throat. I’m slowly learning his tics and quirks. I know he wants to say something, so I lean back against the passenger seat before turning toward him.
He grabs something from the pocket of his jacket, and just as I’m about to ask him what he’s crushing in his palm, he looks at me.
“My as-ssistant asked, what he sh-should gift me for th-the wedding. I as-sked for this.” He swallows before opening his fist. A white handkerchief with a V embroidered in royal blue sits on his palm.
Holy shit.
I grab it, running my hand over the embroidery, and look up at the man who sometimes feels like a dream. “Zane!”
“Is th-this enough, or would you like to leave a lips-stick mark too?” A hesitant smile dances on his face as the corners of his lips curl.
His sexy grin, with a hint of hesitation, is so captivating that I can’t help my tripping heart.
I can’t effing believe he remembered the things I rambled about weeks ago. My brain goes crazy, trying to recall what all I said to him that day in the café. But Zane’s gorgeous smile drops as my silence stretches, and I once again see the vulnerable side of this man gifted with such a beautiful heart.
I grab the lapels of his jacket and pull him closer. His eyes widen when I drag his buttoned collar down a bit and kiss just above the pulse on his neck. I press my lips into his soft skin, which smells delicious.
The spiced and woody scent of his aftershave reaches me as I make sure my strawberry-pink lipstick leaves its mark. When I’m confident that’s done, I pull back a little, and Zane has a scorchingly hot expression on his face as he holds my chin.
His fingers drift to my cheeks as I place his collar back in place. His lips press on mine, and he kisses me slow. Zane’s kisses are like chocolate lava cakes. They start with something familiar and soft until the molten hot chocolate liquid explodes in my mouth.
I’m about to jump onto his lap or ask him to drive us back home when he pulls back. I don’t even try to suppress my groan, and that puts a grin on his handsome face.
“Have a nice d-day, wife.” He places another quick peck on my lips. “Now off you go b-before your fr-riend comes to get you.” He tips his head toward the café, where Ivy’s plastered against the glass window, sipping an iced tea and brazenly gawking at us.
“Crap. She’s going to give me the third degree.” I slip out of the car and dash out.
* * *
The café is not overly crowded when I open the door. The early morning staff is preparing to leave, and it’ll be Ivy and me working until the afternoon when we close.