Page 18 of Sweet Rucking Temptation
I giggle as Elliott's brow furrows in concentration, his tongue peeking out slightly as he works the dough. For all his athletic prowess, he's endearingly out of his element here.
"Come on, Iceman," I tease, bumping his hip with mine. "Where's that legendary focus now?"
He shoots me a playful glare. "I'll have you know, this is far more challenging than any lineout I've ever faced."
"Oh, really?" I arch an eyebrow. "I thought rugby players were supposed to be good with their hands."
Elliott's cheeks flush slightly, but his eyes sparkle with mischief. "Maybe I just need the right... motivation."
My heart skips a beat at his suggestive tone. I clear my throat, trying to keep things light. "Well, how about this: the first one to roll out a perfect circle gets to lick the spoon?"
"You're on." He grins, his competitive nature kicking in.
We work side by side, so close our elbows brush occasionally, sending little jolts of electricity through me. At one point, Elliott reaches across me for the rolling pin, his chest pressing briefly against my back. I inhale sharply, catching the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the sweet aroma of the cannoli filling.
"Sorry," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
"No problem," I manage to squeak out, my hands suddenly feeling clumsy as I sprinkle more flour on the counter.
We fall into a comfortable rhythm, the kitchen filled with the soft sounds of dough being rolled and the occasional burst of laughter when one of us makes a particularly misshapen circle. It's easy, being with Elliott like this. Natural. Like we've been doing this together for years instead of hours.
"You know," I say softly, stealing a glance at his profile, "for someone who claims to be hopeless in the kitchen, you're not doing too badly."
He looks up, a smudge of flour on his cheek that I have to resist the urge to wipe away. "I've got a good teacher," he says, his voice warm.
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I forget about the cannoli entirely. All I can think about is how badly I want to close thedistance between us, to taste the sweetness of the sugar on his lips...
The timer dings, startling us both. I jump back, nearly knocking over the bowl of filling.
"Looks like we're ready for the next step," I say, my voice a bit shaky.
As we move to shape the cannoli shells, our hands brush again, leaving trails of flour on each other's skin. Each touch feels electric, charged with a potential that makes my heart race. I wonder if Elliott feels it too, this growing connection between us that seems to deepen with every shared laugh and gentle touch.
I set the plate of freshly filled cannoli on the small table by the window, settling onto the cushioned window seat. Elliott joins me, his large frame somehow fitting perfectly in the cozy nook. The late afternoon sunlight filters through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow over us.
"These look amazing, Liv," Elliott says, picking up a cannoli. "I can't believe I actually helped make these."
I laugh, reaching for one myself. "Believe it. You're officially a cannoli master now."
As we bite into our creations, I savor not just the sweet, creamy filling and crisp shell, but also this moment of quiet intimacy. Elliott's knee brushes against mine, and I feel a flutter in my chest.
"So," I begin, gathering my courage, "I've been wondering... what made the great 'Iceman' decide to thaw out and ask a humble baker to his rugby match?"
Elliott's eyes meet mine, a mix of vulnerability and warmth in his gaze. "Honestly? I've been burned before. Badly. But there's something about you, Liv. You make me want to take that risk again."
His admission hits me like a gentle wave, washing away some of my own reservations. "I know that feeling," I confess. "After my last relationship ended, I threw myself into the cafe. It felt safer than opening up again."
Elliott nods, understanding in his eyes. "What happened?"
I take a deep breath, surprised at how easy it feels to share this with him. "He cheated. My family still thinks it’s my fault somehow." I roll my eyes, but the hurt still lingers. "What about you?"
"We were together since we were kids. She realized she prefers girls. Didn’t let me know.," Elliott says, his voice quiet. "It made me wary of letting anyone get close again."
As the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the room, our conversation flows naturally from past heartbreaks to shared dreams. I light a few candles, their warm glow adding to the intimate atmosphere.
"I can't believe I'm admitting this," Elliott chuckles, "but I've always wanted to learn how to make my gran's pavlova recipe. She swears it's all in the way you fold the egg whites."
I grin, leaning in conspiratorially. "Well, lucky for you, I happen to be something of a pavlova expert. We could make that our next baking adventure."
