76 Chapter 76: Heartwarming
Moments
Aria POVO
“I will.” He picked up his wine glass, the wine swirled dark and red. “Every day until you say yes.”
I grabbed my own glass. It was still half full. The wine had warmed to room temperature as I headed for my room. “Goodnight, Damien.”
“Goodnight, Aria.”
I closed my bedroom door and leaned against it my heart pounding.
—
Two Days Later – Morning
I woke to voices in the kitchen, again.
This was becoming a pattern. Damien cooking breakfast, Noah chattering, the smell of coffee
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and something burning. The acrid scent drifted down the hallway, mixing with the sweeter scent of vanilla and cinnamon.
I smiled despite myself and got up. The floor was cool under my feet. Morning light spilled through the bedroom windows, painting everything gold.
The scene in the kitchen was chaotic. Noah stood on a stool beside Damien, both of them covered in flour. White powder dusted their hair, their clothes, their faces. Pancake batter was everywhere on the counter in thick globs, on the floor in sticky puddles, somehow on the ceiling in pale splatters.
“What happened here?” I asked from the doorway.
“Science experiment!” Noah announced proudly, his hands were white up to his elbows. “Daddy said we could test pancake velocity!”
“Pancake velocity.” I looked at Damien, a streak of
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batter decorated his cheek as flour clung to his dark hair like premature gray. “Really?”
He shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “He asked if pancakes could fly. I said, “Let’s find out.”
“By throwing batter at the ceiling?”
“It was more of a flipping incident.” He gestured to the pan. The metal was scorched black in one spot. Smoke curled lazily from the edges. “We got
a little enthusiastic.”
“I can see that.” But I was laughing now. The sound bubbled up from my chest. “Mrs. Dora is going to kill you both.”
“Mrs. Dora has the day off.” He flipped a pancake -successfully this time. It spun through the air, golden and perfect, landing back in the pan with
a soft thud. “Which means we’re on our own.”
“Dangerous words.”
“We’re doing fine!” Noah protested. His nose had
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a smudge of batter on the tip. “Daddy only burned three pancakes!”
“Only three?”
“It’s an improvement,” Damien said. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Yesterday
was five.”
I moved into the kitchen, careful to avoid the flour on the floor. The tiles were slippery. My bare feet left prints in the white dust. “Move over. Let me show you how it’s done.”
“You’re going to steal my moment of glory?” But Damien stepped aside, letting me take the spatula. His hand brushed mine as he passed it
over.
“There’s no glory in burned pancakes.” I adjusted the heat. The dial clicked under my fingers. Blue flames shrank to a gentle flicker. I poured fresh batter. It sizzled when it hit the hot surface, spreading into a perfect circle. The smell was
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immediate–butter and vanilla and sweet dough.
“You have to be patient and wait for the bubbles.”
“What bubbles?” Noah peered at the pan. He stood on his tiptoes, leaning dangerously forward as I steadied him with one hand.
“See?” I pointed. Tiny bubbles formed on the pale surface, popping softly. “When these little bubbles appear on the surface, that’s when you flip.”
“Oooh.” Noah watched intently. “It’s like magic!”
“It’s science,” I corrected, but I was smiling. I slid the spatula under the pancake and flipped. It turned in the air, landing with a whisper. The underside was golden brown..
Damien leaned against the counter, watching us with an expression I couldn’t quite read. His arms were crossed. Flour dusted his forearms, stark white against tan skin.
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“What?” I glanced at him.
“Nothing.” But his voice was soft. “Just… this. All of
this.”
“Pancakes?”
“Family.” He said it quietly, like the word might shatter if spoken too loud. His eyes held mine. “This is what family feels like.”
My chest tightened, the spatula felt heavy in my hand. “Damien”
“Mama, the bubbles!” Noah pointed urgently.
I flipped the pancake, perfectly golden. Steam rose from it, carrying the rich scent of
caramelized butter. “See? That’s how it’s done.”
“Daddy, Mama’s better at pancakes than you,” Noah said matter–of–factly.
“I know, buddy.” Damien ruffled his hair. More flour puffed into the air, catching the morning
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light. “She’s better at most things.”
“Not true,” I protested.
“Name one thing I’m better at.”
“Being insufferable.” But I was fighting a smile. The pancake sizzled softly.
“That’s my specialty.” He moved closer, reaching around me for the syrup. The bottle was sticky in places. His chest pressed against my back, solid and warm. His breath was warm on my neck, smelling faintly of coffee. “Along with driving you
crazy.”
“Mission accomplished,” I muttered, acutely aware of everywhere he was touching me. The heat of him seeped through my thin sleep shirt as his arm brushed mine.
“Good.” His lips brushed my ear. Just barely. The stubble on his jaw scraped my ear “Because you’ve been driving me crazy for a long time.”
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“Daddy, you’re too close to Mama!” Noah giggled. The sound was bright and innocent. “You’re going to make her burn the pancakes!”
Damien stepped back, winking at me. Cool air rushed into the space he’d left. “Can’t have that, burned pancakes are my job.”
We ate breakfast at the island, Noah between us, creating an elaborate story about flying pancakes and their adventures in space. Syrup pooled golden on the plates.
Noah’s hands were sticky with it as it dripped from his fork. Damien played along, adding details about pancake aliens and syrup planets. His voice did different characters–high and squeaky for the aliens, deep and booming for the pancake king.
I watched them together and felt something shift inside me.
This could be my life. Our life.
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If I could just let go of the past.
After breakfast, Noah went to play in his room. His footsteps pattered down the hallway as the door closed softly. Damien and I cleaned up the kitchen disaster in companionable silence. Water ran in the sink as dishes clinked as I rinsed them.
“You’re good with him,” I said, scraping batter off the ceiling. It came off in sticky chunks. “Really good.”
“I’m trying.” He wiped down the counter as the cloth made soft sweeping sounds. “Every day I’m terrified I’ll screw it up. Say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, be too much like my father.”
“You’re nothing like your father.”
“How do you know?” He looked at me, his jaw was tight. “You never met him”
“Because your father wouldn’t be here, covered in flour, making flying pancakes with his son.” I
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tossed the paper towel in the trash. It landed with a soft thump. “He wouldn’t care enough to try.”
“Maybe.” He was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator, the drip of the faucet. “My father told me love was weakness, that caring about people made you vulnerable.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I used to.” His eyes found mine. They looked darker in this light. “Now I think it’s the opposite. Love is strength, it is what gives us something worth fighting for.”
“When did you become a philosopher?”
“When I realized what I’d lost.” He moved closer.
“What I threw away because I was too scared to feel anything.”
“Damien”
“I know.” He held up his hands which were still
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dusted with flour. “Wrong time, wrong place. But I need you to know–I’m not scared anymore. I’m terrified of losing you again, but I’m not scared of have feelings for you, not anymore.”
Before I could respond, my phone rang. The sound cut through the kitchen.
It was the Detective.
I answered immediately. “Hello?”
“Ms. Monroe. We’ve identified the photographer from the school.” Her voice was grim.. “His name is Victor, he has a record–assault, breaking and entering, extortion.”
My stomach dropped as cold dread settled in my
chest. “Where is he now?”
“That’s the problem. He’s disappeared, last known address was abandoned, phone turned off, no credit card activity.” She paused. I could hear papers rustling on her end. “Ms. Monroe, this
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man is dangerous. If Marcus is using him, you need to be extremely careful.”
“We’re at Damien’s new penthouse it has a full security.” My voice sounded steadier than I felt. My free hand gripped the counter edge, but the granite was cold and smooth under my palm.
“Good. Stay there. We’re working with the FBI to
track victor movements and know if he is
connected to Marcus, but he’s being careful. Using burner phones, cash transactions, staying off grid.”
“So we just wait?” Frustration leaked into my voice, my jaw clenched. “Wait for him to make his
next move?”
“Unless you have a better idea.”
I looked at Damien, at the determination in his eyes. They are hard now, his hands had formed fists at his sides. The flour on his knuckles stood out white against red skin.
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We did have a better idea. A terrible, dangerous idea but maybe the only one that would end this.
“Actually,” I said slowly, “we might.”
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