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Ivy had been clear about her feelings. So, when Emmanuel had felt the urge to immortalize his commitment to her. He found an imaginative way to do so. Rather than ink her name on his body, he used a symbol to replace the name. Their first wedding anniversary. He came home with an ivy leaf tattooed on his chest. She had looked at him in disbelief.

“You think you are slick, don’t you?”

“What? It isn’t your name.”He had found a way around her rule. It was the first of many. Every anniversary Emmanuel had a new leaf added. Twenty-six leaves in total. He had been so certain of their coupledom, that a few years back he and his tattoo artist had designed a plan for once both pecs were filled. That’s how confident he was in what they shared.

So, God help whoever it was that was behind this. Once Emmanuel Scott discovered who it was, he was going to rain a special kind of hell on them. Their lives would be in tatters.

Oh, Christ!Was Emmanuel’s first thought as he arrived home after gruelling back-to-back meetings. Unlike most men, finding his wife in the kitchen wasn’t a source of happiness. Oh no! It was a loud, extremely loud, warning bell.

Dr. Ivy Burton Scott was brilliant. Beautiful. Sexy. Kind. Loving. She could do anything she set her heart to. Except cook. She was an absolute disaster in the kitchen. Emmanuel’s unconditional love did not extend to subjecting his stomach, fuck that… his well-being to her cooking.

After the disastrous meal he called ‘salmonella stir fry’ due to the charred vegetables and undercooked chicken that was pinker than a blushing cherub when cut into, he asked her not to attempt cooking again without proper training. Ivy had been gifted with cooking classes from professionals. His mother had been convinced she needed a personal touch and called in their old cook.

After half a day, Ms. Fara had called it.“No boy. That woman shouldn’t be in the kitchen.”

Ivy had been devastated.

When she was pregnant with Oliver, she had become fixated on trying again. The success remained elusive. While holding his crying very pregnant wife, inspiration had struck. Maybe cooking wasn’t for her. But. Nothing said she couldn’t bake. Hell, baking was basically chemistry. And if there was one thing his brilliant wife knew, it was science.

It turned out that he was right. The woman who could burn and undercook food simultaneously could bake her ass off. Here was the thing though. She only used that skill for, the holidays or dinner parties. (Which it was neither, nor was one coming up). School bake sales, (Sage’s school preferred big cheques). Or when she was distraught.

Shit!Not a Coconut Rum Pound Cake. Ivy was not in a good place!

“Hey, Doc,” Emmanuel’s greeting was cautious.

“Manny.” Ivy nodded in his direction and continued whisking vigorously. Her head remained down as she concentrated on the bowl. Walking into the kitchen he realised that one cake was already on the cooling rack and each of the double wall ovens contained a cake. As he approached her the whisking seemed to become more vigorous. This time when she turned away from his kiss, it was more deliberate. The whisking was abandoned as she walked away from the counter. Away from his display of affection.

This morning, they had parted ways on relatively good terms. They’d kissed after he had escorted her to the vehicle and held the back door open for her. Things weren’t exactly as they were before but this… this shit hurt. Ivy had never turned away from his kisses before. No, she hadn’t turned away. That was an out-and-out rejection. Their first kiss had bonded them, and every kiss after it had solidified their connection.

Knock, knock. The two pounds were loud and deliberate.

“What the hell?” Ivy grumbled answering her door. “Hey, Emmanuel.”

“Can I come in for a second?” He stood a respectable distance away. It was becoming harder to fight the urge to touch her when he was in her presence.

“Um, sure?” She squinted at him. “What do you need?”

“I was over there—” he said pointing back at the closed door of his condo.

“With all your guests,” Ivy interrupted.

Well, yes, he had a few people over. However, his thoughts weren’t with them. Hence his little excursion across the hall.

“And I got to thinking about something. Now that we are friends?—”

“We aren’t… but go on,” Ivy interrupted, again.

“We are friends, we have breakfast all the time. At this stage, I’m ready to start braiding your hair.”

Ivy gave an unladylike snort. “What’s wrong with you?”

She moved to close the door, but he stopped it with his foot. Then he walked in as bold as he pleased and closed the door behind him.

“Why are you over here again?”

“Hm, I was wondering how I could be a better neighbour.”

Ivy arched her eyebrow and pursed her lips as she was backed against her closed front door.

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