Page 81 of We Can Do
“I know.” She gets busy cutting her lasagna, avoiding my eyes. “If you really want to know, I watched them all when we weren’t talking.”
Any mention of our time apart is a blow to my soul. I’d rather forget that period even exists.
“I was thinking about starting a new video series,” I say, eager to change the subject.
“Oh, yeah?” She looks up, eyebrows raised. “About what?”
“I would compare different baking processes with sourdough starters that are made with wheat and rye flours. And, uh, I wanted to ask if you’d like to make the videos with me?”
She freezes, eyes big. “Really?”
“Absolutely.” I take a long sip of wine, nerves getting to me. I’ve been thinking about this project for days, amping myself up at the possibility of us working together on something other than my book.
There are multiple reasons why she wouldn’t want to do it, though, and I’d understand each and every one of them.
“You’re not worried about what people would say?” She puts her fork down. “About you and I working together? We’ve gotten so much backlash already…”
“Fuck ’em.”
She laughs out loud. “Really?”
“Yeah. Positive.”
She sucks in a long breath. “I agree with you, and even with the rumors it’s not like it would be a bad idea. There’s no such thing as bad press, right? Views are views.”
“Exactly,” I say, though the buzz of us doing a series together isn’t the driving force behind this idea. Alexis has turned into something of a muse for me, her love for trying breads inspiring new ideas. “You could be my official taste tester. What do you think?”
“I love it.” She tilts her head in contemplation. “I have an idea. My friends and I could make outfits for the starter jars. That way each one can wear a new outfit every video.”
I let the proposition sink in. Something silly like that would be different from any of the content I’ve produced so far, but maybe a little shake up is exactly what I need. If nothing else, the outfits will certainly set me apart from other baking channels. “I love it. Let’s do it.”
“Awesome.” She raises her wine glass, and we cheer to the new plan.
The conversation moves on to talk about my plans for self-publishing the sourdough book and whether Alexis will be moving to a house on the island that has a bigger backyard. I bite my tongue when I want to suggest we move in together, because technically we’ve only been back together for a few days and—logically—I know that’s too soon for living together.
But I want it. Not now. But one day. Sooner rather than later.
We’ve already been through so much. I don’t need to ride any more highs and lows to see that we make a good team, that the woman sitting across from me is the one I want to come home to every night.
“How about some dessert?” I ask as I clear our empty plates.
“Yes, please.” She sidles up to me, hands slipping around to find my ass.
I laugh as her grip tightens. “I was talking about gelato.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “That’s good, too. I like gelato.”
But it’s too late. A taste for something other than gelato has taken hold. “Can I eat it off of you?” I tug her closer.
She laughs and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “You don’t need gelato. You can eat me without it.”
A growl, raw and animalistic, rolls up my throat. “Be careful what you wish for.”
She steps back, hands on my shoulders. “Hey, with my flare over…”
“Uh huh?” I dig my fingers into her hips.
She searches my eyes. “I’d like to go further.”
