Page 31 of The Baby Dragon Bakery (The Baby Dragon #2)

She grabbed the dirty paper towels and bowl of water, going to the kitchen. Running her hands under cold water, she washed them, thankful for the sound of the running tap as she tried to catch her breath.

After a few moments, she turned the tap off and went to the fridge.

When she opened the doors, cold air kissed her cheeks, helping her cool off.

She looked around for something to eat, then spotted a familiar box.

Pulling it out, she opened the container to find matar chawal, a brothy rice dish with peas.

“Did my mother make this?” Lavinia asked, turning around. Theo got up from the couch and came over. He sat down on the stool in front of the counter on the perimeter of the kitchen, across from where she was at the fridge.

“She dropped it off a few days ago,” Theo said. His face was mostly cleaned up now, which made it easier to look at him without it hurting so much.

Despite the charged moment between them, Lavinia forced herself to act normal. “I was wondering where those leftovers went!” Lavinia shook her head. A corner of Theo’s mouth tilted into a smile. “I’ll warm this up.”

She made them both plates for dinner, pairing the rice with keema, the minced meat dish also from Beena.

She warmed up their plates in the microwave, then sat down on the stool beside him at the counter.

They ate in silence, though neither of them really ended up eating much, Theo even less than her.

“I’m going to my room,” he said, getting up.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll make you haldi doodh.”

He nodded, not saying anything as he walked to his room, disappearing inside.

Lavinia released a long breath, then went to the kitchen, warming up milk with turmeric.

She didn’t really think it did anything, but Beena always made Lavinia drink haldi doodh when she was sick.

It was kind of gross, but the warm milk was always comforting, and Lavinia snuck some honey in, too.

After the milk was ready, she brought it over to Theo’s room in a mug. He was already in bed, lying down in the middle, staring up at the ceiling.

She set the mug on his side table, looking at him. He looked so . . . sad .

“What’s wrong?” she asked, heart aching. She hated to see him in pain.

He didn’t speak, as if he couldn’t. She drew closer and saw that his eyes were wet.

Finally, he whispered, “It hurts, Lav.” His chin trembled, and she wanted to cry.

Lavinia sat down on the edge of his bed. “Hey,” she said, squeezing his arm. “It’s going to be okay. Promise.”

He closed his eyes as if she didn’t understand. And maybe she didn’t. She surely felt lost in a labyrinth of complex emotions, both his and hers. But she did mean what she said. Things would be okay. They had to be.

“Try and get some sleep,” she said. She hated the sight of the cut on his lips, the tense furrow between his brows.

She brushed his wavy hair to the side, her hand lingering on his face. Her fingers twitched; she wanted to touch the soft pad of his lips.

Lavinia pulled back her hand as if scalded. She abruptly stood, heart hammering.

She turned to leave, but just when she did, he reached out and grabbed her hand. His finger curled around her wrist. She turned around, pulse racing.

“Can you stay?” he asked, eyes half-lidded as he looked at her. His voice was miserable. “Please.”

Lavinia was frozen in place. It was agonizing to be here with him like this, but she couldn’t say no to him.

“Okay,” she said, voice quiet. “Just for a little while.”

She lay down next to him, and he turned onto his side so they were facing each other.

At the same time, they reached for one another, pulling into a hug. For the first time all night, Theo finally seemed to relax, releasing a long exhale.

He still wasn’t wearing a shirt, and her hands slid up on his bare back as his arms wound around her neck, one of his hands sliding into her hair. He rested his chin atop her head, holding her against his chest.

It was painfully intimate, the feel of his skin against hers. Every part of her ached for more. Her cheek was against the bare skin of his chest, right above his heart, and she felt his heartbeat.

She wanted to be closer to him, for them to fuse into one. She shifted toward him, heat pooling low in her belly as she felt the hard contours of his body.

An electric current shot through her, making her dizzy. This was dangerous. Everything within her felt unstable.

She pulled back, moving her hands from his shoulders down to his waist, trying to extricate herself from him, despite how much her body protested. She moved back until they were no longer touching and she could look up to see his face.

He opened his eyes, looking at her, his hand moving onto the curve of her neck. His gaze shifted down to her mouth, his lips parting.

“Lavinia,” he whispered.

The way he said her name was new, unlike anything she’d heard before, from him, or anyone else. It was almost like an oath or a prayer—something haunted or holy.

Her eyelids fluttered as a shiver ran down her spine, and she involuntarily arched toward him.

“Lavinia,” he whispered again, his voice lower, deeper, the sound barely there, but she heard it as he drew closer. His breath was warm against her open mouth.

Then, his lips brushed against hers as if by accident—but she wished it wasn’t an accident, and it was too much.

It was all too much. She pulled back.

“I have to go,” she said, voice breaking.