Summer Desserts

shrugged into his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. “Then don’t interfere.”
    “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Hooking her arm through his, Summer led him to the kitchen. Again, she switched on lights and made him wince. “Make yourself at home,” she invited.
    “Aren’t you going to assist?”
    “No, indeed.” Summer took the top off the cookie jar and plucked out the familiar sandwich cookie. “I don’t work overtime and I never assist.”
    “Union rules?”
    “My rules.”
    “You’re going to eat cookies?” he asked as he rummaged for a bowl. “And eggs?”
    “This is just the appetizer,” she said with her mouth full. “Want one?”
    “I’ll pass.” Sticking his head in the refrigerator, he found a carton of eggs and a quart of milk.
    “You might want to grate a bit of cheese,” Summer began, then shrugged when he sent her an arch look. “Sorry. Carry on.” Blake broke four eggs into the bowl then added a dollop of milk. “One should measure, you know.”
    “One shouldn’t talk with one’s mouth full,” he said mildly and began to beat the eggs.
    Overbeating them, she thought but managed to restrain herself. But when it came to cooking, willpower wasn’t her strong suit. “You haven’t heated up the pan, either.” Undaunted by being totally ignored, she took another cookie. “I can see you’re going to need lessons.”
    “If you want something to do, make some toast.”
    Obligingly she took a loaf of bread from the bin and popped two pieces in the toaster. “It’s characteristic of cooks to get a bit testy when they’re watched, but a good chef has to overcome that—and distractions.” She waited until he’d poured the egg mixture into a skillet before going to him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed her lips to the back of his neck. “All manner of distraction. And you’ve got the flame up too high.”
    “Do you like your eggs singed or burned clear through?”
    With a laugh, she ran her hands up his bare chest. “Singed is fine. I have a nice little white Bordeaux you might’ve put in the eggs, but since you didn’t, I’ll just pour some into glasses.” She left him to cook and, by the time Blake had finished the eggs, she had buttered toast on a plate and chilled wine in glasses. “Impressive,” Summer decided as she sat at the dinette. “And aromatic.”
    But it’s the eyes that tell you first, he remembered. “Attractive?” He watched as she spooned eggs on her plate.
    “Very, and—” she took a first testing bite “—yes, and quite good, all in all. I might consider putting you on the breakfast shift, on a trial basis.”
    “I might consider the job, if cold cereal were the basic menu.”
    “You’ll have to expand your horizons.” She continued to eat, enjoying the hot, simple food on an empty stomach. “I believe you could be quite good at this with a few rudimentary lessons.”
    “From you?”
    She lifted her wine, and her eyes laughed over the rim. “If you like. You certainly couldn’t have a better teacher.”
    Her hair was still rumpled around her face—his hands haddone that. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright and flecked with gold. The robe threatened to slip off one shoulder, and left a teasing hint of skin exposed. As passion had stripped away his control, now emotions stripped away all logic.
    “I love you, Summer.”
    She stared at him while the smile faded slowly. What went through her she didn’t recognize. It didn’t seem to be any one sensation, but a cornucopia of fears, excitement, disbelief and longings. Oddly, no one of them seemed dominant at first, but were so mixed and muddled she tried to grip any one of them and hold on to it. Not knowing what else to do, she set the glass down precisely, then stared at the wine shimmering inside.
    “That wasn’t a threat.” He took her hand, holding it until she looked up at him again. “I don’t see how it could come as that much of a surprise to you.”
    But it had. She expected affection. That was something she could deal with. She understood respect. But love—that was such a fragile word. Such an easily broken word. And something inside her begged for it to be taken from him, cherished, protected. Summer struggled against it.
    “Blake, I don’t need to hear that sort of thing the way other women do. Please—”
    “Maybe you don’t.” He hadn’t started the way he’d intended to, but now that he had, he’d finish. “But I need to say it.