As they worked elbow to elbow, creating the little pillows of potato dough and the truffle Parmesan cream sauce, Jake told her about how everyone at the firehouse had been complaining they’d gained weight since he’d arrived and taken over as head cook. Charlie could believe it—he definitely knew his way around the kitchen.
After dinner Jake topped up their wine and they moved over to the couch. There was an easy rapport between them—moving in sync while they cooked, easy conversation during dinner, and lively banter as they cleaned up afterward.
There was a natural pause as they sipped their wine. In the quiet, Charlie felt a swell of guilt at misleading Jake. Her hands stilled on her wineglass.
“So, this has been amazing but I still have to proof the dough for early tomorrow. And I’ve been fighting this headache all day. I’ve probably had enough wine.”
Jake put his glass down as well. “Want a neck rub?”
Yes, Jake. Yes, I do.
“Um, sure? If you don’t mind?”
Jack put a cushion on the floor. “Have a seat,” he said, shifting so she could sit between his knees.
“Oh my God, that feels amazing.” Charlie groaned as Jake’s strong fingers massaged the tight muscles of her neck and shoulders. “Let me guess, along with being a firefighter, expert gnocchi maker, cat rescuer, and photographer, you’re also a trained massage therapist?”
Jake chuckled. “I like using my hands. What can I say?”
Now they were so close she could smell a wisp of a campfire, same as she had the day before. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.
Immediately his hands stopped. “Am I hurting you?”
“No, not even close. This is incredible. Please don’t stop.”
“You know, I love how you aren’t afraid to enjoy things, to ask for what you want,” Jake said. “Maybe that sounds weird, but . . .” He paused and Charlie waited. “Let’s just say I’m not used to it. I admire it, honestly, and I’m really glad we’re friends.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said, but she felt instantly ill. I’m really glad we’re friends. Exactly. He was a friend. And, more specifically, Cass’s friend. She put her hands on his to stop them, then shifted away from the couch. “I hate to cut things short, Jake, but I really need to get that dough proofed.”
Charlie picked up the pillow and as she did, her fingers hit something with a hard edge. Kneeling, she peered under the couch. Her phone. “Finally! I’ve been looking for you!” Charlie exclaimed. She tried to turn it on, but it was dead. “It must have fallen that first day, when I was sleeping and almost burned the bakery down.”
“？‘That first day’？” Jake asked, now standing. “I thought you said you took Gateau out for a walk?”
“Yeah, right. I was walking Gateau,” Charlie murmured, trying to keep her stories straight and searching for her charging cable so she didn’t have to look him in the eye. She found it in the side pocket of her overnight bag and plugged in the phone.
Their evening together was over, and even as she told herself it was for the best, she felt as deflated as a batch of over-proofed sourdough.
“Anyway, I should probably get going, so . . .” Jake said, hands in his pockets.
Precisely at the same moment Charlie said, “Sorry. I just . . .”
They both stopped speaking, exchanging warm smiles.
It was then Charlie realized this was not what she wanted. She wanted him to stay. He had said a moment before that she was good at asking for what she wanted, and this—spending more time with Jake—was what she wanted. “Hey, listen. I could use a hand. What do you think about learning how to proof dough?”
* * *
? ? ?
Downstairs in the bakery Jake and Charlie donned fresh aprons and set themselves up at the expansive countertop. Jake had flour on his face—on his nose—and Charlie smiled as she handed him a tea towel to wipe it off.
“Did I get it?” he asked, bending slightly so she could better see his nose, which had a slight slant to the right （he told her it had been broken more than once thanks to his rugby-playing days）。 He had, but she still reached up and gently rubbed nonexistent flour away, just so she could touch him. Jake’s deep green eyes held hers, and the corners of his mouth twitched as he smiled. For a moment they stayed like that—Charlie on her toes, to reach Jake’s nose, and Jake smiling at her—and then Charlie let out the breath she’d been holding and said, “Got it. Flour free.”