Page 11

Chapter ten

What do you mean you don’t know how to fold?

Charlie

T he sound of the doorbell jolts me, and I nearly spill my wine. I set the glass down quickly, hands shaky with a mix of nerves and excitement.

Zoe’s voice echoes in my mind: Pour yourself a glass of wine and stop being a pussy. Well, I took her advice, but now that Jake’s actually here, one glass may not cut it.

I smooth down my apron, take a deep breath, and walk to the door. I can do this. It’s just baking, just an afternoon with an old friend. But nothing about this feels like just anything.

When I open the door, Jake’s standing there with bags of ingredients, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever. That nervous flutter in my stomach turns into a full-blown storm.

“Hey, Charlie,” he says. “Or should I call you Chef?” That smile should come with a warning label.

I raise an eyebrow, leaning on the doorframe. “That depends. Think you can follow orders?”

His eyes glint as he steps inside. “Guess we’re about to find out.”

He follows me to the kitchen, moving like he’s been here a hundred times before, filling the house with an energy that feels both familiar and unnervingly new. There’s something both thrilling and terrifying about it.

“So, what’s the plan?” Jake asks, setting the bags down on the counter. “I’m at your mercy, Chef.” Oh, there are several things I would have you do at my mercy.

I laugh a little too loudly, and grab my wine glass for a quick gulp. “Alright, first thing’s first—do you know what folding is?”

His eyebrow quirks up, smirk edging into a grin. “Folding? Like… laundry?”

“Like baking ,” I correct, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s a technique, not just stirring. You have to be gentle, so you don’t knock the air out of the batter.”

The grin widens. “So, it’s like stirring but fancy. Got it.”

I narrow my eyes at him with mock seriousness. “This is very important. I don’t think I trust you with it.”

He puts a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Charlie. But alright—what am I allowed to do?”

“Measuring,” I say, pointing to a bowl. “Everything needs to be exact. You can handle that, right?”

“I think I can manage.”

I hand him the measuring cups and recipe, watching as he carefully scoops flour into the bowl, his focus almost comically intense for such a simple task. The scene is so absurdly domestic, it makes my heart twist. Measuring flour isn’t hot, measuring flour isn’t hot.

“So,” he says, glancing at me. “How long have you been perfecting your control-freak baking methods?”

Biting back a grin, I try to sound authoritative. “It’s not control-freakishness. It’s precision.”

He leans in, close enough that I catch a hint of his cologne. “It’s cute.” Oh my God.

I roll my eyes, ignoring the flush creeping up my neck. “Less talking, more measuring.” Get it together, Charlie.

He chuckles, but not before brushing past me, his arm grazing mine, sending a tingle through me. As we work, the conversation flows easily with the kind of light banter that feels effortless. It’s just like camp. Easy, familiar.

But underneath it all, there’s tension. It hums between us, unspoken but obvious. Is he as terrified as I am?

At one point, Jake glances over and his eyes turn more serious. “So, what made you decide to move here? With the kids and everything?”

I pause, caught off guard. I’ve thought about it a thousand times, but hearing him ask in that non-judgemental way makes it feel more real. I focus on folding the batter like it’s the most important thing in the world. “It was time for a change. Things with my ex weren’t good because he was more focused on his career than on us.”

Jake nods, his expression thoughtful. “That must’ve been hard.”

“It was,” I say softly. “But staying would’ve been harder, you know? I tried for a long time to… I don’t know, make it work. Make him love us. But it was always one-sided. I couldn’t keep letting him break my babies’ hearts. I had to do what was right for them—and for me.”

He’s quiet, his eyes focused on measuring, but there’s a tension in his jaw. “You did the right thing. My dad… well, you might remember he wasn’t around much. My mom stayed, but it wasn’t easy for her, or for me. I always thought she should’ve left. So, I think it’s pretty damn brave that you did.”

His words hit me, stirring memories of a late-night conversation by the lake. I look up, surprised by the raw honesty. There’s a depth in his gaze that makes my heart ache. “I remember.”

“And you shouldn’t have to make someone love you,” he says softly. “It should be effortless.” His eyes catch mine, holding them. “Loving you would be the easiest thing in the world.”

For a moment, the air feels heavy with everything unsaid and the weight of all the time between us. My chest thunders, like it knows he’s reached across the years and touched a part of me I thought I’d hidden away. His eyes linger on mine as though he wants to say more, and I stare back, not sure what to say myself.

And then the oven dings, shattering the moment into pieces.

I clear my throat, turning toward the oven. “Looks like the first batch is done.”

Jake steps back, giving me space to open the door, but there ’s a look in his eyes that says he felt it, too—whatever it was.

As I pull the tray out, he leans against the counter, watching me with that easy smile. “So, how’d I do on the measuring? Star pupil or what?”

I laugh, grateful for the mood lightener. “Pretty good. But don’t get cocky. There’s still plenty of work to do.”

He winks at me. “I’m not scared of a little work.” I’m not going to survive this day if he keeps winking at me like that.

We keep baking, tension ebbing and flowing as we move around the kitchen. I feel his eyes on me, watching every move. The way he finds any excuse to get close, brushing his fingers against mine or reaching an arm around my back for something, only stokes this thing building between us. When we both reach for the same spoon, his fingers linger on mine, and it takes everything in me not to react.

Eventually, I pour myself another glass of wine and offer him one. He accepts, and for a moment we stand there, sipping in comfortable silence.

“You know,” he says finally, breaking the quiet, “I’m glad we’re doing this. Feels like we picked up right where we left off twelve years ago.”

His words catch me off guard, and I glance at him trying to gauge them. Pretty sure where we left off involved us both trying not to jump each other’s bones.

“You’re right,” I say with a smile. “It’s like no time has passed.”

“Yeah.” He looks at me, eyes softening. “We should’ve kept in touch.”

I nod, turning to the oven and pulling out another tray of cookies, the caramelized sugar filling the air. “Yeah, we should have,” I admit, setting the tray on the counter. “But life just got in the way, I guess.”

Turning back, I expect him to still be by the counter, but he’s right there—closer than before. Our eyes lock, the distance between us feeling paper-thin.

“I looked for you online for a while, but then I got rid of my socials. Too much pressure from the media, too many people wanting to know every detail.”

I blink, surprised. “I didn’t know that. I just assumed you got busy with your career taking off and everything. And I was at uni, then met Alex…” I trail off, not wanting to bring up my ex again.

Jake nods, his expression darkening for a moment. “Yeah. Guess we both got busy. But I thought about that summer a lot, Charlie. I didn’t forget you.”

There’s something in his words that sounds like a confession, like he needs me to know it. The space between us feels like it’s caving in, and I swallow, suddenly very aware of how close he is. His eyes drop to my lips before flicking back to my eyes.

“Those cookies smell amazing,” he says, like he’s not talking about cookies at all.

“Yeah…” My voice barely comes out, my pulse thundering in my ears.

Neither of us move. We just stand there, inches apart, the heat from the oven mingling with something far more authentic. My heart pounds so loud I’m sure he can hear it. I’m gonna die. I'm gonna pass away surrounded by cookie dough and Jake Brooks.

His hand twitches like he’s about to reach for me, and I stop breathing, waiting.

But then the front door clatters open, and seconds later, Noah and Meadow’s voices fill the air, reality crashing back around us.

We both step back, the heat dissipating as quickly as it came.

Jake clears his throat, giving me a sheepish smile. “Looks like we’ve got some extra helpers.”

“Yeah,” I reply, voice shaky. “Perfect timing.”

“Perfect,” he echoes. But he doesn’t seem annoyed by the interruption. In fact, there’s warmth in his eyes as he turns toward the kids.

“Mama!” Meadow’s voice rings out as she runs into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around my legs. “We’re back!”

I bend down to scoop her up, her little arms squeezing tight around my neck. “Hey, honey bee. Did you have fun?”

She nods eagerly, catching sight of Jake over my shoulder. “Hi, Jake!” She wriggles out of my grasp, rushing over to him.

Jake crouches down, giving her a huge smile. “Hey, Princess. You’ve got perfect timing—cookies are almost ready.”

Noah steps forward, eyeing Jake with a mix of curiosity and familiarity. “Did you make donuts, too?”

Jake chuckles, reaching out to ruffle Noah’s hair. “Not this time, buddy. But we did make some awesome cookies.”

After Nina leaves, the next half hour becomes a whirl of flour, sugar, and laughter. Jake is amazing with them—patient, playful, completely present. At one point, Meadow ends up with flour all over her, and Jake laughs along with her, gently wiping it off with a kitchen towel. It’s a simple gesture, but the tenderness in it makes my heart swell.

Watching him with my kids feels almost too natural, as if he’s always been here. Stop it, Charlie. This is just baking.

Eventually, we gather around the table to sample our creations.

“This is the best cookie ever!” Noah announces, mouth full of chocolate chips.

Jake takes a bite of his own. “I agree, bud. Your mom’s a pretty great baker.”

I feel heat rush up my neck and quickly take a sip of my wine to hide it. “Thanks. But you did most of the work.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, the dimple in his cheek appearing. “Pretty sure you didn’t let me do anything more complicated than measuring.”

“Someone had to keep you and your lack of folding skills in check,” I joke, and he laughs, the sound warm and full of genuine happiness.

After the cookies are devoured and the kids start to get sleepy, I take them upstairs, tucking them in with promises of more baking adventures. When I return, Jake’s wiping down the counters, looking so at home it hits me like a punch. This is dangerous territory, Charlie.

“Thanks for helping out,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, trying to steady the strange mix of contentment and longing building in me.

“Anytime,” he replies, meeting my eyes. “This was fun. We should do it again.”

I nod, feeling the tensio n spark again now that we’re alone. “Yeah, we should… if you can handle the chaos.”

He laughs, tossing the cloth in the sink. “Meadow and Noah are adorable. I’d be happy to hang out with them anytime.”

His words wash over me, but I control the urge to climb this man like a tree. We stand there, eyes locked like we’re both weighing the risks, deciding if we’re ready to cross whatever line we’re toeing.

But then he blinks, breaking the moment with a soft, bittersweet smile. “I should go. Gotta be ready for the event tomorrow.”

I nod, feeling a pang of disappointment. “Yeah, of course. We’ll see you there.”

“You better,” he says, the corner of his mouth curling up.

He grabs his jacket and walks to the door, but he pauses while opening it. “For the record, you’re an amazing mom, Charlie. I mean it.”

There’s something about Jake saying that to me without any hesitation that has me swallowing hard. He knew who I was and sees exactly who I am now. Somehow, he bridges both versions of me, filling the gap with a warmth I haven’t felt in years. Maybe not since him.

“Thanks,” I say softly, unsure if I can say more without getting weird and emotional.

He gives me one last, lingering look before heading out, leaving me standing there with my spinning thoughts.

While tidying up, I find his cap on the floor by the dining table. I pick it up, feeling the worn fabric between my fingers. It looks identical to the one he used to wear at camp. Don’t smell it. Don’t be a fucking psychopath, Charlie.

I take it upstairs with me and place it on my dresser. Once I’m in bed, I settle under the covers, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Jake. I grab my phone from the nightstand, intending to check the time, but my fingers hesitate.

Without overthinking it, I shoot him a quick text.

Me: You forgot something

Jake: Did I? Was it important?

I snap a picture of the cap and send it.

Jake: Oh, that. For a second there, I thought you meant something else.

Me: Like what?

Jake: A kiss? My dignity? I lose track around you.

My heart skips as I read his message. I bite my lip, warmth spreading as I type back. Maybe it’s the wine making me bold, or maybe it’s just him.

Me: Maybe you did

Jake: In that case, I’m definitely coming back

Me: Haha. You should feel lucky I didn’t fire you as my sous chef.

There’s a pause while I watch the little dots move, and then—

Jake: Lucky, huh? How about I make it up to you tomorrow?

Me: What, by not burning down the kitchen?

Jake: No guarantees. But I might aim for a promotion.

Me: To what? Head dishwasher?

Jake: Nah. Head taste tester.

My pulse picks up as I think of a reply, but then my phone pings again.

Jake: I had a great time tonight, Charlie.

Me: Me too. Night, Jake

Jake: Sweet dreams, Chef.

I laugh softly, placing my phone down and closing my eyes.

There’s something about the way Jake pays attention to me. It’s always felt different. Under his gaze, I feel steady and weightless all at once, like I’m standing on solid ground but still capable of reaching for more.

With him, I feel seen. Heard. Respected. He notices the little things, listens like every word matters. His eyes never waver, like I’m the only person in the room. Like he genuinely cares, not because it’s convenient, but because it’s who he is.

It might be the familiarity of old memories clouding my judgment, but it’s been so long since someone looked at me like that. Back then, his attention felt almost accidental, like he didn’t realize how much of it he gave me. But tonight was different. That flirting wasn’t innocent. It was deliberate, focused, intentional. And I felt it, every charged word and lingering glance.

Alex was always too busy, too wrapped up in his own world to really see me. I was an afterthought, a convenience, something to check off a list.

But Jake makes me feel like I matter. Like I’m worth the time, worth the effort. Even with something as small as teaching him how to fold batter.

Still, I can’t ignore the past, and I need to remind myself to be cautious. Because letting myself fall without a safety net feels risky as hell.