hoping that wouldn’t count as cheating. Making tiny piecrusts from scratch felt well beyond their limits of skill, time, and patience.
Nothing in the universe was cuter than Romeo in that apron—Teddy was positive of that. Romeo concentrated on the pasta dough, his brow furrowed and his tongue sticking out a tiny bit. Those long fingers working the flour mixture so dexterously got Teddy thinking about how they’d feel on his bare skin, stroking here and there, digging in a little during the more intense moments. Teddy wanted to suck on them and watch them leave damp tracings down his belly and over—
“You’re staring.”
Teddy blinked a few times to clear his head. “I, uh, I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t thinking about flatbread.”
“No.” There was no use lying. Romeo’s eyes glittered with something other than a love of baking, and he licked his lips with decadent leisure.
“I’m not going to drink tonight,” Teddy announced.
“I’m not sure I’d have the self-control to resist you again even if you did drink.”
The kitchen was suddenly much too warm even though the oven wasn’t on. Teddy got himself a glass of water and guzzled it. Then he filled another glass, carried it over to Romeo, and held it to his mouth with a wicked grin. “Your hands are too messy to hold it yourself.”
“Hmm.” Romeo never moved his gaze from Teddy’s face as he drank, and Teddy watched with rapt fascination as Romeo swallowed. Who knew hydration could be such a turn-on?
Teddy set the glass on the counter and stood on his toes, intending to kiss whatever parts Romeo would allow. But Romeo danced a step backward and shook his head with a smile. “Remember where making out got us yesterday?”
“Trapped in an escape room.”
“Yep.”
Fine. The kissing could wait.
Teddy dedicated himself to the herbs and flowers: sorting, washing, drying, and removing leaves and petals. It made for a pretty project, and an aromatic one. But due to his slight allergy, he ended up having a sneezing fit and had to use paper towels to blow his nose.
The pasta dough had to rest for only a brief time. But then came the tricky part, which was feeding it through the machine. This stymied Romeo, who swore a lot under his breath. But then Teddy realized the machine was similar to one he’d used for clay in one of his childhood art classes. As it turned out, pasta making used essentially the same techniques. After a little practice, Teddy managed to make reasonable-looking noodles.
Then he attempted to add the flowers.
He might have been okay if he’d had an extra pair of hands, but with only two, he kept dropping things or smooshing the sheets of dough. Romeo tried to assist, but that meant they were standing pressed together, their arms entwining, which led to even worse pasta disasters.
There were some noodles in the end, but they sported numerous weird blobs and the flower petals were unrecognizable smears of color. There would be nothing Insta-worthy about this dish. “Maybe it’ll taste okay anyway,” Romeo said hopefully.
“If anyone’s brave enough to eat it.”
While Teddy put together a pistachio pesto sauce—scattering shells everywhere; he’d neglected to request the unshelled kind—Romeo tackled the salmon salads. “I think I’ll assemble these directly onto the plates. We can keep them covered in the fridge until it’s time to dress and serve.”
“Good idea.”
And it would have been, except as Romeo was carrying the carefully composed plates to the fridge, he slipped on a shell Teddy had missed during his cleanup efforts. He was able to keep his balance, but all three dishes landed on the floor with an ear-splitting crash.
Romeo and Teddy stared in horror at the mess. China shards everywhere, mixed in with pieces of rosy salmon, green lettuce, and bright flowers. Thankfully nobody came running to investigate.
Teddy knelt, picked up a broken piece of china, and examined the pattern. “Spode,” he concluded with a sigh.
“Joyce probably didn’t buy it on sale at Target, huh?”
“Antiques.”
Teddy had a momentary fantasy of running out of the house, calling a Lyft, and scouring the city for replacements. But there wasn’t time, and he didn’t have a clue where to begin. There was an excellent chance he’d never find this particular pattern anyway. “We’re going to have to tell her.”
“Yep.”
And then another thought struck Teddy. “Was that all of our salmon?”
“Yep.”
“We could ask Dave to get us more.”
Romeo cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to tell him why? ’Cause we’d pretty much have to.”
“No,” Teddy replied with a sigh. “I