Ambergris Locakboxes Traveled Salt Routes by Hugh Calder 148
Chapter One Hundred And Forty–Eight: I Am Still Very Sore.
The kitchen had never felt this alive before.The chef had been given the morning off–politely dismissed by Dreston with a grin and a “We’ve got this.”
Now it was just the two of them.
Cassienne stood barefoot in the kitchen, wearing one of Dreston’s white shirts, the sleeves rolled, the hem brushing mid–thigh. Her hair was loosely tied back, a few strands escaping around her face.
Dreston, dressed in grey lounge trousers and a fitted black tee, looked like he had no intention of focusing on breakfast.
“You’re supposed to be whisking,” Cassienne said, glancing over her shoulder.
“I am whisking.”
“You’re staring.”
He didn’t deny it.
“I can’t help myself.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile betrayed her.
On the counter between them sat a small chaos of ingredients, eggs in a ceramic bowl, chopped bell peppers, fresh herbs, butter softening in a dish, sliced sourdough waiting for the pan. A plate of strawberries and blueberries rested beside a bowl of pancake batter she had prepared.
Cassienne stirred the omelet mixture carefully, concentrating.
Behind her, Dreston slid closer.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” she muttered.
“Doing what?”
“Standing that close.”
His hands came to rest on either side of her waist. “I like standing close.”
She tried to step away. But he followed. The whisk slowed in her hand.
“Dreston…”
He pressed a slow kiss to her shoulder.
She laughed softly.
“Focus on the stove before you burn something.”
“I’m focused.”
“You are not.”
He leaned forward, reaching around her to flip the pancake in the pan, but instead of flipping it immediately, he brushed his lips against her neck.
She gasped lightly. And the pancake nearly burned.
“You’re impossible,” she accused, turning to face him.
“And you love it.”
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He reached past her and finally flipped the pancake successfully.
“See? Multitasking.”
She shook her head, but her eyes softened.
He reached for a strawberry from the fruit bowl and held it to her lips.
“Open.”
She hesitated, but did as he said. He watched her bite into it.
“That’s not fair,” she said, chewing. “You’re distracting me.”
“I’m helping.”
“With what?”
“Keeping morale high.”
She burst into laughter.
He moved to the other side of the island, slicing herbs with impressive precision. Cassienne poured the omelet mixture into the pan and added cheese, watching it melt slowly.
For a few quiet seconds, they worked side by side, and it was a beautiful moment.nBut the air between them was anything but ordinary.
He leaned against the counter, watching her again.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re going to eat me instead of breakfast.”
He grinned unapologetically.
“That’s not a bad idea.”
She swatted at him lightly with a kitchen towel and he caught it.
Then caught her wrist. Then gently tugged her toward him.
“Dreston, the eggs-”
“Are fine.”
He kissed her. A slow and warm kiss that sends her toes curling. Her hands slid up his chest instinctively.
The omelet sizzled softly behind them.
He broke the kiss just enough to murmur, “You smell like my soap.”
She tried to look serious.
“You are not helping.”
“I’m not trying to.”
He lifted her suddenly.
Cassienne squealed, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her two steps and placed her gently on the
Chapter One Hundred And Forty–Eight I Am Still Very Sore
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cool marble counter.
“Dreston!”
He settled between her legs, hands resting at her hips.
“You started this.”
“I did not.”
“You walked into my kitchen looking like that.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling.
His mouth found hers again–deeper this time, then slower. His hands slid up her thighs just enough to make her breath hitch.
He pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against hers.
“I can’t get enough of you.”
Her cheeks flushed.
“I am still very sore,” she whispered, half teasing, half serious.
He laughed low in his throat.
“That sounds like a challenge.”
She narrowed her eyes playfully.
“Behave.”
“I’ve tried.”
His lips brushed her jaw again. Her fingers slid into his hair. And that was exactly when a soft but very deliberate throat clearing
echoed from the kitchen entrance.
They froze. Both of them. And slowly, they turned their heads.
Emily stood near the doorway, arms loosely folded, trying, and failing, not to smile.
Cassienne’s eyes widened.
She immediately pushed at Dreston’s chest.
He stepped back reluctantly as she jumped down from the counter, smoothing the hem of his shirt quickly.
“Mother,” Cassienne said shyly, cheeks flushed bright red.
Dreston, on the other hand, had the audacity to smirk.
“Good morning, Emily.”
Emily raised a brow.
“I see breakfast is… well underway.”
Cassienne wished the marble counter would swallow her whole.
Dreston only leaned casually against it.
“Would you like pancakes?” he asked smoothly.
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Emily shook her head lightly, amused. “I’ll just wait in the dining room.”
She turned, walking away with the faintest smile still on her lips.
Cassienne glared at Dreston once she was out of sight.
“This is your fault.”
He leaned in again, whispering near her ear.
“Worth it.”
She tried not to smile.
She failed.
And somewhere in the dining room, Emily smiled to herself, comforted by the sound of laughter in her daughter’s home.
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