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“Mmm.”

I leaned back against him.

“Is there enough for me?”

“Of course.”

He kissed beneath my ear.

“That’s distracting.”

“You smell better than dinner.”

“Lachlan.”

Another kiss.

“I thought you had work.”

“I do. But then my penthouse started smelling like someone actually lived here and was cooking. My stomach started growling, so here I am.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was going to bring it to you.”

“You can interrupt me like this anytime.”

His hands rested against my stomach while I finished cooking.

We plated everything together and ate at the island.

Lachlan devoured it in seconds. I’d have to make twice as much next time.

“This is fucking fantastic.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’ve been eating takeout and restaurant food for fifteen years. I’d marry whoever made this.”

My spoon paused halfway to my mouth.

He didn’t appear to notice what he had said.

Or maybe he did and chose not to react.

Heat crept into my cheeks anyway.

“Mamá taught me the basics,” I said. “Then the women in the kitchen taught me more. Baking was always my favorite.”

“What do you bake?”

“Everything I could learn to make—cakes, breads, cookies, pastries. I collected recipes wherever I could find them.”

“You can bake anything you want here. I’ll be more than happy to be your taste tester.”

His willingness to sacrifice himself for the cause made me laugh.

After dinner, he started gathering plates.

I took them from his hands.