Page 109 of His Secret Gift

I look around and make sure there isn’t anyone else around before coming closer to her and grabbing her by one hip. “I really am sorry that all of that happened. I promise, it wouldn’t have if I’d had full control of my mind and my body.”

“Yeah.” She tries to go back to what she was doing, but I stop her and force her to look at me by lightly gripping her chin with the thumb and pointer finger that aren’t already occupied.

“I’m serious,” I remark with my eyebrows raised to emphasize my sincerity.

She looks down and licks her lips. “Yeah,” she then repeats.

I release her. “Okay. I just want to make sure that you know I’m not bullshitting. You know how much I despise cheating. I mean,” I graze under my mouth with my hand. “Not that we’ve had the official ‘couple’ conversation. But you know what I mean.” I’d still asked her not to hook up with anyone that same night, and it would’ve been disgusting of me to go against my own wishes and dishonor her like that.

“Mhm.”

Kayla then hurries herself by organizing something else. And it’s when she takes a small metal bowl in her hands that I realize how I can make one effort to get in her good graces. C-h-o-c-o-l-a-t-e. It’s one of the first things that bonded us together, and if she’s anything like me, which I believe she is, it’s all part of how I show and receive love.

“Will you have dessert with me tonight?” I ask randomly.

She turns around, her gorgeous brow furrowed. “Dessert?”

I nod. “Yeah. In my bedroom. Just you and me.”

“Um.” I see her tongue run along her front, upper teeth. “Okay.”

“Great. Say eight o’clock?”

“Sounds good.” After that, I see her genuine smile for the first time in what feels like days.

Unfortunately, chocolate souffléisn’t the easiest thing in the world to make, but I’m determined to get it perfect for her—even if it takes a few tries.

So, I take the four-ounce bittersweet baking chocolate bars that I found in the cupboard and crush them up using a plastic bag and a rolling pin. Next, I carefully melt all of it before whisking three egg yolks, butter, vanilla, and salt into the batter.

Then, in a separate bowl, I beat more egg whites and cream of tartar into soft peaks before slowly incorporating sugar.

After that, I fold each mixture together carefully.

When the oven dings to let me know that it is pre-heated to four hundred, I follow a tip I read somewhere years ago, and I chill the batter in the refrigerator for ten minutes to stiffen things up a bit.

To finish the baking step off, I then butter each metal ramekin cup and distribute the batter. Then, I put each cup on a sheet in the oven and immediately reduce the heat—which is another tip I remember reading. The initial burst of higher heat helps the batter rise while the lower temperature encourages the entire thing to cook evenly.

Eventually, Captain Bryant walks in while I’m preparing the topping—which involves sifting powdered sugar.

“Someone looks better.”

I have to wave particles in the air away to see him properly. “Thanks. I feel it, too.”

“It smells delicious in here.” He gives me a funny look. “Making up for lost time?”

“That’s the plan.”

Then, he asks, “Perhaps a devoted friend could also receive some fruit of your labor.”

I laugh before checking in on the consistency of my little pans. “Don’t worry, Wes. I made plenty for you.”

He pumps his hand in the air. “Yes!”

He’s as much of a chocoholic as the two of us are.

We continue to converse while I wait for the oven to go off, but when it does, I’m as careful as possible as I remove the end product.

Bryant goes to open his mouth—but I hold my finger up to my mouth. “This is very delicate,” I whisper.

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