Page 12 of A Sudden Romance

Things weren’t too bad so far. He hadn’t stumbled over his words. Yet. He had God to thank for his calmer nerves too. He unhooked one of the nonstick pots hanging above the sink.

If he made tea, perhaps she could focus on drinking while he worked on breakfast. He pulled out a half gallon of milk from the fridge and poured it into the pot. He added fresh ginger and turmeric powder from the spice rack. A cinnamon stick and a couple of spices were enough to blend into the buttery turmeric flavor. Between the potted herbs by one of the windows and the spiced tea, the kitchen took on a sweet and spicy aroma.

Turning the stove to medium heat, he donned his chef coat from the hook between the fridge and a cupboard. After putting on his hat, he washed and dried his hands before pulling on disposable gloves.

While Iris kept her focus on the Bible, he opened the glass flour canister. Crepes should be easy for her to make and for him to guide her. Then he was less likely to touch her accidentally.

Early morning light streamed through the windows, so he almost didn’t need the lights on.

By the time he arranged the necessary ingredients for three different breakfasts, the milk was frothing to the surface. He turned off the stove, then selected one of the cups Iris favored—the yellow one with the words Have Fun arching beneath a smiley emoji. He strained the milk into the cup and carried the steaming mug to her. “I got you some tea.”

She looked up from her Bible, warm brown eyes holding him captive, and he felt hot.

“Sabastian, I’m supposed to help you cook today. I’m not here for you to serve me.”

When he set down the cup, she reached for it and lifted it to her nose, taking a whiff. “Hmm. Golden tea is my favorite.” A thrill carried in her voice. “I was hoping you would make it sometime.”

His chest puffed as he reclaimed his fort behind the stove. Iris always loved that tea. While she had her reunion to-do list, he had a list of her favorite things to make this month.

“I wouldn’t want to drink alone, though.” She covered her Bible and notebook, then stood, and carried her cup toward him.

“There’s more milk,” he said to keep her from passing her drink to him. He wasn’t picky with his hot beverages, so he poured himself a cup.

Regina normally made her way downstairs fully dressed between seven fifteen and seven thirty. He needed to fix her chamomile tea as soon as they got breakfast started—if they ever got to cooking.

“What are we making?” Iris set her mug on the counter, so he moved to the opposite side, opened the bottom drawer, and unfolded an apron for her.

“Crepes.” He bent to retrieve the blender she’d need from the cabinet. “If you’d like to blend it, I’ll get some milk, vanilla, and eggs.” He told her the other dishes they’d be making, on top of the filling for the crepes.

“That’s a lot of food for three people.” She slid the white apron over her head and tied the straps on her slender waist.

“I keep the portions small.” He handed her the measuring cups and spoons as he relayed the amount she needed to add to the blender.

“I better wash my hands first.”

While she washed her hands, he got her a clean kitchen towel. Then she eyed his gloved hands, wiggled a pair from the box, and slid them on.

He swallowed a laugh over how loosely they fit, but he didn’t have a small size for her.

While she measured the items, he gathered the sweet potatoes from the basket, peeled, and diced them. The blender whirling and the knife hitting the board occupied their silence.

He put the potatoes, diced kale, and spices into the pan and kept them on low heat. He then gave step-by-step instructions to finalize the crepes.

He plugged the griddle in. After it warmed, he sprayed it with butter and dipped the quarter cup, pouring batter onto the griddle’s center. He then lifted the handle to tilt the griddle and spread the batter. “The thinner the crepe, the better the texture.”

“You make it look simple.”

Although there was a gap between them, he felt the need to move further. Yet he also longed to touch her, to feel the fingers he assumed would be so soft.

“It’s just this simple.” He flipped it as soon as the bottom was set, then put the cooked crepe on a clean plate. He set down the spatula and handed her the blender. “You can do it.”

He pointed his chin to the measuring cup on the plate. Her hair smelled heavenly when she leaned in to take the blender handle. Then her fingers brushed against his, and electric tingles shot through his arm and rushed through his body. He withdrew his hand the moment she had a good grip on the blender. With his pulse racing, he made the mistake of looking at her.

While she should be pouring batter onto the griddle, she was staring at him, shock and confusion evident through her open mouth and drawn brows.

Could she feel the pull of attraction too?

“Okay.” The word emerged in a breathless rush from her rounded lips before she reached for the cup and filled it with the batter.

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