Page 174 of With a Cherry On Top

I wet my lips. “Yeah?”

She hums. “Yeah.” Then she glances at me, like she’s only just realizing I’ve gone completely still. “What?”

I run my thumb over my bottom lip. “Nothing. Just . . . I thought you didn’t do . . .boyfriends. Commitment.”

She snorts. “I didn’t.” Then, quieter, “I do now.”

When I step closer, she stops stirring.

I want to know if she meant it. If, in that alternate life she was imagining, the one where she sells flowers by the beach, I’d be there too. I stroke my thumb over her pulse. “I should ask, right? Officially?”

“You want to ask me to be your girlfriend?”

I think so. She deserves to have it spelled out, to know that this isn’t just something casual or assumed. “Yeah,” I say, shifting her towards me. “I do.”

“Okay. Ask me.”

My heart does something weird—too fast, too full—but I just lift her hand, press my lips to her knuckles, still slightly bruised, and look straight into her eyes. “Charlotte, can I be your boyfriend?”

I wonder for a moment if she’s going to make me sweat, but she exhales and says, “Yes, Chef.”

I swear, my whole body exhales with her.

She tugs me down, pressing her mouth to mine, and it’s the perfect antidote for what happened today. For the grief, loss, and humiliation. It’s so good that I forget where we are, what we’re doing. So consuming that I don’t even care.

When she pulls back, blinking, she mumbles a breathy “Burned.”

My tongue swipes against her bottom lip. “Hmm?”

She gasps when my lips trail along her jaw. “Smells burned.”

I look at the custard, smoking and bubbling in a way it definitely shouldn’t be. “Shit.” I turn the burner off as her giggle melts against my ear. “Well, the next step was to let it cool down.”

“The custard or us?”

Good point.

“Sorry. I ruined our ice cream.”

“That’s fine. Actually, we were going to have to let it cool down for a few hours, so...” I walk to the freezer and take out a tub of homemade ice cream. “I’m prepared.”

Her smile is bright enough it might just melt the whole tub.

“Vanilla?”

“Of course,” I say, scooping some into one of Sadie’s novelty ice cream bowls.

She settles on the stool next to me, watching me take out the toppings. Chocolate sauce, a long drizzle. Sprinkles, for a little color. Whipped cream, high and fluffy.

When I’m done, I slide the sundae across the island, setting it between us, and tap on the bowl. “Go on. Try it.”

Charlotte grabs the spoon and scoops up a bit of everything—the ice cream, the whipped cream, the chocolate and sprinkles.She pops it into her mouth, her lashes fluttering as she hums in pleasure.

I watch her, my heart a steady thrum. “Good?”

“So good.” She swallows, licking a bit of chocolate from her lip.

“Only the best for my girlfriend.”