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“See, I was concerned about the noise level and how it was affecting my favourite neighbour. Now that I’m here…” He tilted his head this way and that. “Weirdest thing.”

Emmanuel paused waiting for Ivy to ask what it was. He watched as the realisation dawned on her that he wouldn’t proceed until she did just that.

With a huff, she prompted, “go on, tell me the weirdest thing.”

“Well Ivy.” Now he had her trapped between himself and the door. He stretched both of his arms up and above her head, bracketing her in. “Funny thing. Now that I’m in here I can barely hear anything.”

For his astute observation, he was rewarded with a smouldering glare.

“You don’t have it as loud as you usually do. And maybe my hearing is better than yours.”

“Or. Hear me out. You like having an excuse to come over… to see me.”

“Don’t you have a party to get back to?”

“I’m exactly where I want to be, Ivy.”

The air seemed to shift as her chestnut-coloured eyes abruptly broke their eye contact. Maybe that was for the best, because as his eyes trailed to her mouth the tip of her tongue snaked out and wet her lips. It was the oddest sensation to realise that you had been fighting a battle and lost it all at the same time.

“Ivy.” That was the only warning Emmanuel gave her before capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. The fog of lust that blanketed him as she moaned her approval into his mouth… shocked him like an electric bolt. Rather than put an end to the mating of their mouths, her surrender urged him to capture more of the taste of her.

This would not be the demise of all that they were. First the rejection of one kiss, then another, until one day they looked up and they were too far apart. He had to figure something out.

“What’s the matter?” Emmanuel asked. Ivy’s back was to him, but he didn’t miss how her shoulders tensed before she turned to face him.

“Nothing.” Her tone was frosty… no. Frostier than the sub-zero temperature outside.

Emmanuel scanned the kitchen, regarding the evidence that it was indeed something. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what it was. Or suspected. No, he wasn’t looking forward to the answer. But hell, he refused to continue on the path that they were on.

“I don’t know Doc. Our kitchen says otherwise.”

At first, she didn’t answer. Ivy disappeared into the pantry and returned with a glass cylinder containing a vanilla pod.

“I felt like baking.” Ivy shrugged, as she walked back over to the counter.

He stepped back to allow her access to the counter.

“I went to a bunch of places, so I could get the good coconut chunks and the rum I use is in short supply. I had to go to three liquor stores before I found the right one.”

“Ivy.” Something in the way he called her name, made her turn to him.

She squeezed his bicep. “I’m fine, Manny.”

“No, Doc. You aren’t. It looks like a bakery in here.”

“I felt like baking.” Her voice was soft and small.

“But why?” He realised how quiet the kitchen was. The absence of music or television was a further sign of how wrong things were.

“You love when I bake. I’m actually good at it.”

“Yes, I love when you bake, and you are very good at it. But Doc, baby you only go full-on like this when you are feeling out of sorts. I keep asking?—”

“Please stop!” Ivy shut her eyes tight and shook her head. She opened her eyes then.

The pain there rocked him on his feet.

“The constant checking in is driving me insane. It’s hard enough.”

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