“You’re not defined by a career, Lucas.” I let my hand fall on top of his, very briefly, just so I didn’t lace my fingers with his like I was desperate to do. “You’re way more than just that. You have more to offer, too.”
He blinked, a muscle in his jaw jumping, his gaze clouding with something that looked a lot like wonder. Awe. Also, surprise.
And just as quickly, he was walking off, severing the contact, and reappearing with a large wooden spatula.
He leaned down on the counter, assessing my work like we hadn’t had that conversation. “Good job, Rosie. I think you might have a knack for this.”
He slid my pizza onto the spatula and left to put it in the oven. I took the opportunity to check his toppings choice. “Whoa. Is that honey that you drizzled on yours?”
“Yes,” he said when he came back and repeated the process with his pizza. “Pear, walnuts, some prosciutto because I couldn’t find any jamón that was worth our time, and a little of blue cheese, too.”
He walked back to the oven, and my gaze followed him this time, getting caught up in the way his back shifted as he slid the spatula in and out. Muscles moved and rolled, making me think of him in the water. Him, a board underneath his body. And him, not able to jump on one anymore.
“… Or in other words,” Lucas was saying, “any Italian’s nightmare.”
He strolled back to where I was at the counter, and I nodded my head, fully aware that I had spaced out. “Yes, total nightmare.”
“You didn’t listen to a word I said, huh?”
“What? Of course, I did.”
He snickered knowingly. “Rosalyn Graham, and you dare deny I’m irresistible.”
I was ready to deny it again, but now that he was standing closer, not more than a foot away, I could see that the tip of his nose was covered in flour so I told him, “Your ego is so big that I should probably let you walk around the rest of the night like this but… you have something on your face.” I brought my index finger to my nose, pointing him in the right direction. “Right here.”
He dragged the back of his hand across his nose and cheek, but only made it worse. He asked, “Now?”
“Yep,” I lied through my smile. “Much better.”
He narrowed his eyes, inspecting my face. “It’s not gone, is it?”
I shook my head and finally let out a laugh.
Lucas’s palm returned to his face, but he must have covered his hands in flour when he slid the pizzas onto the spatula, because he somehow managed to paint his chin white, too. “How about now?”
I laughed harder. Smiled bigger.
“Come here and take pity on me, woman.” He held both hands in the air, looking at his palms. “Fix me up, before I end up completely covered in it.”
“But you look soooo cute.”
He sent me a dark look that made me immediately move, closing the small distance between us and stopping right in front of him. I held my hand up in the air, reaching for his face but not making contact. And I swore, I’d never—ever—understand what got into me to say what I said next.
“Maybe I like you covered in flour.”
Lucas’s eyes sparkled with surprise. Something warm and sultry, too.
My smile died slowly. My left hand reached for the remnants of flour that had been covering the counter and I covered my fingers in it.
“Rosie,” Lucas rasped. “Don’t.”
But that only encouraged me.
I made sure to meet his gaze when I smudged the flour all over his left cheek.
Lucas’s expression morphed, that intensity I’d gotten glimpses of in our first date swirling in. And just as I was about to retrieve my hand, his fingers closed around my wrist. He asked in a gravel-like tone, “You want me messy or cute, Rosie?”
My belly took a deep dive at the quality of his voice, of his gaze, of his words. I swallowed. “Both.”
Without breaking eye contact, Lucas leaned forward, towering over me with his flour-covered face and making me tilt my head back. “You can’t have both. Choose. What will inspire you tonight, Rosie?”
“Messy,” I breathed out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him stick his thumb in the tomato sauce container. Then, he was moving, shifting us so my back was against the counter, my wrist still in his hold.
Before I could fully process any of that, his thumb was sweeping over my nose, leaving a sticky trail behind. “Then I’ll make a mess of you, too.” I felt his breath on my mouth. His body coming closer. “Ever since I tied that apron around you, I’ve been stopping myself from doing exactly that, anyway.”