Lena stirred the caramel sauce on the stovetop, watching it bubble to a thick golden glaze. The scent was warm, buttery, and sweet, the kind that clung to skin and hair. She felt Walker's presence before she heard him—his quiet footsteps across the kitchen tiles, his soft exhale as he leaned on the doorway. The tension between them had been building all week, stretched taut and humming.
"You always make it smell like heaven in here," Walker said, voice roughened by sleep. He wore a faded T-shirt and joggers, his hair still tousled. It was early, too early, but Lena had woken before dawn with the urge to test a new recipe.
"You always say that," she murmured, pouring the sauce into a bowl.
"Because it's always true."
He stepped closer, slowly, like testing the limits of their new rhythm. Lena's breath caught as he brushed past her to grab a spoon, then dipped it into the sauce without asking. He tasted it, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
"God. That's insane," he said.
Lena didn't respond. Her pulse quickened when he moved to stand beside her, close enough that his bare arm grazed hers. She should've stepped away. Instead, she stayed still.
"Why are you always up before the sun?" he asked, voice softer now.
"Because my head's too full. The bakery, recipes, repairs... you."
He looked at her, startled.
"I meant you being here," she added quickly, cheeks flushing. "It's just been... a lot."
Walker set the spoon down and turned toward her. "Yeah. It's been a lot for me, too."
Their eyes locked. There was a silence between them, but it wasn't awkward. It felt electric.
"I keep thinking about that night on the porch," he said, taking a step closer.
Her throat tightened. "Walker—"
"No," he whispered, "just... let me say this."
She watched him, guarded but breathless.
"I haven't stopped thinking about it. About you. About what it meant."
She backed up slightly, but her spine hit the counter. He didn't advance further. He just looked at her like he was trying to memorize every part of her face.
"I was stupid not to see it back then," he said. "And now it's like I can't unsee it. You. Us. I know it's fast, but I can't pretend anymore."
Lena's heart pounded. She hated how badly she wanted him to touch her again. But she also knew that once the line was crossed, there was no going back.
"You're not staying, Walker," she whispered.
"I'm not leaving," he replied. "Not from you."
His hand brushed her cheek, tentative, waiting for her to move. She didn't. When he leaned in, he paused—giving her a moment. And then her lips met his.
It was slow at first, tender, searching. Then it deepened, urgent, raw with unspoken feelings. Her fingers curled in his shirt. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close.
By the time they pulled away, breathless, Lena's caramel sauce had long cooled.
Walker rested his forehead against hers. "Tell me not to kiss you again, and I won't."
She didn't say anything.
Because she wasn't sure she wanted him to stop.