Page 64 of Sweet and Salty
“Kringle.” She brings her rolling pin down on the poor defenseless dough with a whack that echoes in the kitchen.
“Oh. For the cherry festival?”
“Yes.” She makes theesssound like it has two syllables, so maybe that’s a step in the wrong direction. “I mean, I never heard fromAmerica Bakes!, so this is all I have to look forward to.”
That cuts straight through me faster than a chef’s knife through hot butter. “I’m so sorry they haven’t emailed. That sucks. You deserve to be on a show like that.”
“Well.” She accents this with another whack on her dough, flattening it faster than a T-rex with mud. “Sometimes what people want and deserve is not what they get, and being an adult means you have to deal with it anyway.”
Wow. I step toward her and intercept the rolling pin before it cracks her worktable in half. It’s like an extension of her arm, and I can feel the trembling in her muscles. “I’m sorry, Laura.”
“Don’t be. I did it to myself.”
“No, you didn’t.” I set the rolling pin on the worktable, covering myself with flour in the process, and turn toward her. “You did nothing wrong. It was my fault. I should have been honest with you.”
“Why can’t you?”
Why couldn’t I? Why couldn’t I keep one person I love? My parents, my grandparents. For ten minutes, I want to live in this version of my life. The one where I can be the man she deserves.
I exhale and tip my forehead until it rests against hers. “I love you, Laura.” Truth. “When I’m with you, I finally feel like I’m home. I feel like I belong. I’ve been alive for more than forty years, but these last few weeks are the first time I’ve really lived.” Truth, truth, truth.
Her breath catches in her chest, and she snakes her flour-covered hands up my chest. She smells like chocolate and sweet, plump cherries. “Was that so hard?”
“Yes and no.” I kiss her softly, holding her lips for longer than I need to because it feels so good to luxuriate there, to feel the strain and anger ebb from her body. “Will you do something for me?”
“What is it?” Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are glassy. I kiss the crest of her temple and then move behind her, bracketing her between my forearms.
“Will you teach me to make kringle?”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Laura
I laugh,the motion jubilant and buoyant. “You want to learn how to make kringle?” I thought it would be something naughty—which I’m down for, no doubt—but kringle?
I pick up the rolling pin but it feels lighter than a marshmallow. It falls onto the work table with a clunk.
He leans forward and kisses my cheek again, his lips branding me with warmth and love. He loves me. Me. “Yes. Please.”
I’m a little too love-befuddled to think clearly of an appropriate response. “Okay.” With shaking hands, I pick up the rolling pin again, Ma’s sturdy bamboo one that doesn’t have any handles because I hate cleaning them.
Jesse snakes his arms around me, resting his hands atop mine and stilling them. Sparks of desire flare from our connection and zoom straight to my core. No, I don’t need sex brain, I need baking brain. “So, um, first we roll out the dough. I usually keep a stash in the freezer. Kringle is one of our more popular menu items, regardless of the season. Though holidaystend to be the busiest. Kringle wise.” A flush spreads up my neck. “Sorry. I’m babbling.”
“I like your babbling. Never apologize.” He keeps his hands on mine as we roll a disk into a nine- by fifteen-inch rectangle. “What’s in the dough?” His breath heats the skin behind my ear, making my whole scalp tingle.
I can’t remember. His proximity has robbed me of my senses.
But I’m more than a giant horny toad. This is my business. I just need to focus.
“Flour, butter. Sugar, of course. Eggs, yeast. All the basic ingredients.” I set aside the rolling pin, and Jesse takes the moment to squeeze a handful of my hip. This is one of the things that I love about Jesse. He’s not shy about showing me how much he likes my body.
For my part, I want those hands lower. Sleep deprivation plus dreams coming true equal wanting him inside me. I close my eyes, forcing myself to focus on my task. “It’s Ma’s recipe. She was from Racine, where the Wisconsin Danish kringle originated.” My cheeks flush and I take the other disk to roll into a rectangle. I’m being far more gentle now, but it’s because Jesse’s presence makes me think all sorts of things that have nothing to do with pastry.
“Really? Racine.” Jesse settles his hands on mine again as we shadow-roll the dough. Why is this so sexy? His weight and heat against my body, our conjoined touch rolling and stretching and kneading the soft dough. “The only thing I know about Racine is fromA League of Their Own.”
I laugh, and it feels so good to have him behind me, holding me like this. “My grandmother’s best friend was a Racine Belle. Between my two moms, Ma was the one who taught us all how to swing for the fences.”
“Did you ever meet your grandma?”