Page 52 of Frosting and Flames

“You’re not up at eleven?”

I shake my head. “Baker’s hours. Early to bed and early to rise.”

“What do you wish for?”

I make a tsking sound. “You know I can’t tell you that. Then they won’t come true.”

He playfully smacks his forehead. “Duh. What am I thinking?”

I smile, placing the dirty bowl and utensils we used for the cornbread in the sink. “You make those wishes, too?”

He nods. “Eleven-eleven wishes are for everyday kind of things. But birthdays and New Year’s are for special ones since they only come once a year.”

That makes complete sense to me. “Not that I’m asking what you wish for,” I clarify, “but are your special wishes for things that have a good chance of coming true already, like something you’re working toward? Or do you wish for once in a lifetime things, like winning the lottery?”

He considers my question seriously, as if this isn’t a ridiculous conversation. “I do a mix of both. Gotta cover my bases.”

“Have any of them come true?”

“I’m sure some of the smaller ones have. But the once in a lifetime ones…” He trails off, his gaze seeming to linger over me. I feel it in a physical way, the same as I did out on my front porch. “Maybe someday.”

I look down at the dishes to hide my expression. I’m not sure what he can see there. “When’s your next big wish?” New Year’s is half a year away.

“My birthday is in a few weeks.”

“Oh, really? Well, happy almost birthday. Twenty-eight?”

He nods. “There aren’t any exciting birthdays after twenty-one, are there?”

“No, I guess not.” Thirty is approaching for both of us in a couple of years, but I’d rather not think about that if I can help it. “Do you have plans?”

It’s only then I realize I don’t know much about his day-to-day life. Who he hangs out with. What he does in his free time when he’s not at the fire station.

I only discovered today he has a roommate. I guess during the times we’ve talked, it’s mostly been about… me. Am I that self-centered? Or has he always redirected the conversation that way? Does he not like talking about himself?

That’s certainly a change from Kyle, who never failed to find a way to shift a topic back to himself.

Nick shakes his head. “No plans. I might even be working that day. Not sure yet.”

He doesn’t seem sad about not having any birthday plans. Is that because it’s normal for him? I don’t think he’s close with his dad. And from how messy Tanner was, I don’t think he’d be the type to be on top of party planning.

“Can I make you a cake?” I ask.

His brows lift. “Yeah, I’d love that.” He looks down at the counter, tracing a nonsensical pattern over it with his fingers. “I can’t remember the last time someone did that for me.”

My heart swells in my chest, that something so simple could have such an impact on him.

When the cornbread is finished, Nick carefully retrieves it from the oven, as if he’ll ruin all our hard work by dropping it, and I transfer it to one of my insulated casserole carriers to keep it warm. As we head down the front porch steps to Nick’s truck, he looks over at me and intertwines our fingers.

I’m caught off guard for a moment, nearly dropping the cornbread myself, until I remember we’re on camera. That’s why he’s holding my hand.

He’s just as warm as before, his fingers deliciously rough against my skin. I didn’t even know that was something I craved until today. I’ve never held a man’s hand that felt like this.Someone who works with their hands enough to make them calloused.

I squeeze his hand in return, allowing myself a moment of pretend. It’s acting. If Kyle’s watching us right now, he’ll see two people who finished a passionate encounter, still wrapped in an afterglow.

Nick knows exactly what to do, pausing before opening the passenger door for me and bringing our joined hands up to his mouth, pressing his lips softly to my knuckles.

My breath catches in my throat, willing myself not to think anything of it. It’s acting. Even if he’s looking at me that way again. Like I’m the only thing he sees.

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