Page 25 of Wynter's Second Chance

“He’s got a way about him, doesn’t he?” Mabel’s voice broke through my thoughts. I straightened, glancing her way, feeling a bit like I’d been caught.

“Maybe a bit,” I admitted, trying to sound casual.

She chuckled, giving me a nudge. “Go on, then. I’m sure Taran wouldn’t mind showing you the ropes. And between us, since y’all were kids, he’s always been a bit more cheerful when you’re around.”

At her words, my mind flashed back to the little things Mabel had said over the years about Taran and me. They’d barely registered at the time, just harmless observations from someone who’d known us forever. Like the way she’d tease, “You boys are thicker than thieves, aren’t you? Always glued at the hip.” Or how she’d chuckle when Taran and I showed up together, saying, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two had a secret language.” I’d always shrugged it off, thinking it was just her way of ribbing us.

But now, looking back, I wondered if she’d seen through me all those years, picking up on something I hadn’t been ready to admit. Something I hadn’t even admitted to myself.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I made my way to the back. As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, Taran looked up, his eyes widening slightly before he laughed, a bit flustered. A rosy tint colored his cheeks, and I felt a flicker of warmth at the sight.

“What are you doing back here?” He wiped his hands on his apron, glancing at Mabel as if she’d set this up.

“Mabel’s idea. She thinks I need a crash course in holiday baking,” I said, shrugging. “Figured I’d take her up on it.”

He rolled his eyes, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he handed me an apron decorated with Santa faces and candycanes. “Good luck, then. Don’t blame me if you go home looking like a snowman.”

I slipped it over my head, catching a whiff of cinnamon and vanilla clinging to the fabric, probably from years of holiday baking. “I’ll try to keep my dignity intact,” I said, tying it at the back. “But no promises.”

Taran chuckled, grabbing a ball of dough and kneading it with practiced ease. “Trust me, with that apron, dignity’s long gone.”

“Real funny,” I said, shaking my head but unable to keep a grin off my face.

We started with the basics. Taran guided me through mixing and folding, his instructions clear but amused. My unaccustomed clumsiness was on full display because I was so stupidly aware of him—his smell, his proximity, his touch.

“Not so fast, Wyn.” Chuckling, he stopped my hand from tipping too much flour into the bowl. “You’re baking, not building a snowbank.”

“Hey, I’m doing my best.” I was barely able to repress my body’s reaction to his touch lingering on my hand, warm and grounding. I glanced up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the kitchen noise seemed to fade.

He grinned, and before I knew it, he reached over and lightly smudged a streak of flour onto my cheek. “There, that’s better.”

I narrowed my eyes, grabbing a handful of flour and flicking it back at him, earning a surprised laugh as he brushed it off. “You’re asking for it,” I warned.

We kept up the playful back-and-forth, flour scattered on the counter and our clothes. Every time he moved past me in the cramped space, our arms brushed, his warmth sparking a thrill that I felt down to my core. I caught myself watching him, admiring the focus in his eyes, the light in his expression, the way his lips curved when he laughed.

Every accidental touch, every laugh, every look—each one only drew me in closer. And the more time we spent there, the harder it was to keep reminding myself why we shouldn’t cross the line.

I couldn’t pull away, not even if I tried. My fingers still curled around his, heart pounding in my chest. Taran’s eyes were locked with mine, and I swore I saw something there—hope, maybe even something deeper, something I’d dared not dream of for over two decades. It was a spark, faint but unmistakable. For a second, I was back to being that teenager, full of yearning, watching Taran from afar as he fell for Royce instead.

But this... This was different. It was too much for me to ignore now, too real to write off as wishful thinking. My heart ached with the want, a longing I hadn’t allowed myself to feel for so long.

I took a shaky breath. The air felt thick, heavy with what was unsaid. My chest tightened with the weight of it, the moment.

With a single, hesitant movement, I closed the gap between us, drawn in as if by a magnet. My lips brushed against Taran’s, soft and tentative, a question, a plea, wrapped in years of hidden desire. And when he didn’t pull away, when his hand slid to the back of my neck, deepening the kiss, I couldn’t contain it anymore. The kiss grew in passion, in urgency, like the world had fallen away, leaving only us, this moment, this unspoken connection between us.

Time seemed to stretch, bend, and the only thing that mattered was the feel of Taran against me, his warmth, his breath mingling with mine. Everything that had been left unsaid, all the years, the regrets, the loneliness, it all unraveled in that kiss.

But when we pulled back, the world rushed back in. My breath came in shallow bursts, my mind racing as I processed what had just happened. I could barely register the sudden burstof exhilaration that followed, mixed with a jolt of fear. What had we done? Was it too much? Too soon?

I caught a glimpse of Taran—his lips swollen, his eyes darkened with something I couldn’t quite name. He looked like he’d been kissed. Hell, he looked like I had kissed him.

My chest swelled with something I hadn’t expected: pride. A surge of warmth flooded through me, mixed with a fierce desire to do it all over again, to make him feel this good, to make him feelwanted.

But then reality hit, sharp and cold. I glanced around quickly, panic rising in my throat. But goddamn! We were just out of view from the front of the bakery, a few steps away from where the customers sat. If anyone had walked in…

“Gentlemen.” Mabel’s voice froze us both. She stood in the doorway with a knowing smile, glancing between us and the flour-strewn counters. “If you two are done turning my kitchen into a snowstorm, I think there’s an order that needs finishing.”

Taran gave her a sheepish grin. “Right. On it.”

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