Page 152 of Never Let You Go

For the moment.

I should immortalize this. I reach over for my phone charging on the nightstand and snap a photo of Christopher sitting on the side of my bed handing me a sticky pastry, the breakfast tray between us, my foot resting on his thigh.

In years to come, I want proof that this was not my imagination.

He gives me his crooked smile when I snap the photo.

“Let’s get some content for your social media,” I say when we’re done with breakfast.

“What does that even mean?” he asks, a puzzled look on his face. Then, catching up, he adds, “Don’t you have a ton of pictures already?”

“I’d like videos of you. On normal days, I’d be in the way. And I’m supposed to be baking, too.”

“Would you like that?”

“I’d love it.” I’m beaming.

“Only because you’d love it, then.”

Before I can stop myself, I wrap my arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his nose.

He smirks. Something clouds his gaze before he breaks into a wide grin and adds, “Anything for you, pancake.”

Once in the bakehouse, he says, “I might as well practice for the competition,” and pulls his ingredients out. I set up the ring lights around his workstation then start the video.

I ask him questions, and most of the time he answers, our back-and-forth easy. Sometimes, he’s so focused he doesn’t answer right away, and I get some great footage. Especially when he looks up at me like he’s just discovering me, a huge grin brightening his features. Then, he remembers the question and launches into an explanation with passion, precision, and care.

Four hours later, my stomach rumbles as his confections come out of the oven. “I can’t believe you made me work on my day off,” he says.

“Right. Like you wouldn’t be working if I weren’t here.”

He grins and kisses me lightly on the lips. “I would be working three times more.”

That worries me. “Are you skimping on your preparation because of me?” I can’t be the one standing between him and the title.

“You’re my good luck charm. I’ll be fine.”

My heart dips at his admission. The competition means a lot to him—to everyone. And, if he loses, he’ll be crushed. I remember Grace’s words—Christopher needs to prove himself.

“Even if you don’t win, you’re the best,” I tell him, happy tears rimming my eyes.

“I’ll win. When I want something bad enough, I get it.”

My heart stutters at his words, and I hide it by scrolling through the videos I took. Surely if he wanted me in his life, he would start by just saying so.

“Show me how this works,” he says, motioning to my phone. His woodsy scent warms me when he leans over as I show him. Then, he takes over the phone and practices by filming me.

“You can also do a selfie,” I say and adjust the phone’s tripod.

“Why would I do that?”

“If you want to talk straight into the camera, like you have an announcement. Or, maybe, down the road, if you want to interact with your customers, you could do a live video.”

He grunts. “I don’t think so.”

“Could come in handy if you’re introducing something new. Or a big order just got canceled and you’re sitting on inventory. You just hop in and say something like, ‘We’ve got awesome whatever-it-is-you-made, and they won’t last long. Come in and get yours!’ and then, you just take a bite of whatever you made, or you show it to the camera.”

“That’s it?”

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