Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~7 min read
The testing session started innocently enough.
Bash had texted her at noon: Need to test the bread pudding one more time. Make sure it’s perfect for the critic interview. Your place or mine?
Ivy had responded: Mine. 8 PM?
Perfect. I’ll bring the bourbon.
So here they were at 8:15 PM, in Ivy’s kitchen, making their signature dessert for the fifth time. They’d made it so many times now that they moved around each other like dancers who’d learned the same choreography. She’d reach for the cinnamon exactly when he finished with it. He’d preheat the oven without her asking.
It was intimate in a way that had nothing to do with touching.
“More chocolate,” Bash said, tasting the custard.
“You always want more chocolate.”
“Chocolate is perfect. More perfect is more chocolate.”
“That’s not how adjectives work.”
“It’s how chocolate works.”
Ivy laughed and added another handful of dark chocolate chunks to the bread mixture. Bash was right—it was better.
They were plating the dessert when Ivy got custard on her cheek. She didn’t notice until Bash went very still.
“What?” she asked.
“You have—” He gestured to his own cheek. “Custard.”
“Oh.” She swiped at her face. “Did I get it?”
“No. Other side.”
She tried again. Missed.
Bash set down his spoon. “Here. Let me.”
He stepped closer. Reached up. His thumb brushed her cheek, warm and gentle, wiping away the smudge of custard.
And didn’t move.
They were standing so close Ivy could see the ring of darker gray around his irises. Could smell his cologne—something woody and expensive. Could see the exact moment his eyes dropped to her lips.
“Ivy,” he said, voice rough.
“Yeah?”
“I should—I should step back.”
“Okay.”
Neither of them moved.
“I’m going to kiss you,” Bash said. “If you don’t want that, tell me now.”
Ivy’s heart was trying to escape her chest. “I want that.”
He leaned in slowly, giving her time to change her mind. His hand moved from her cheek to cup her jaw, thumb brushing her skin in a way that made her shiver.
Closer. So close she could feel his breath.
“Bash—”
The back door burst open.
They jumped apart like they’d been electrocuted.
Leo stood in the doorway, oblivious, holding his phone. “Chef! You’re not answering your phone! The critic moved his interview!”
Bash’s jaw clenched. “What?”
“Thorne. He emailed. He’s coming tomorrow instead of next week. Tomorrow at 10 AM. Here. He wants to interview you both here while you make the dessert together.” Leo finally looked up from his phone and noticed their faces. “Did I… interrupt something?”
“No,” Bash said, too quickly.
“Nothing,” Ivy added. “We were just—testing. The dessert. For testing.”
“Uh-huh.” Leo’s eyes sparkled with barely suppressed glee. “Sure. Testing. Is that what they’re calling it now?”
“Leo,” Bash growled.
“Right. Leaving. But seriously, Chef—tomorrow at 10. He wants to see you collaborate in real time. Said it’s for the article.” Leo backed toward the door. “I’ll just… go. Continue your testing. Or whatever.”
He was gone before either of them could respond.
Silence crashed through the kitchen.
Bash ran both hands through his hair. “Tomorrow. He’s coming tomorrow.”
“That’s—that’s fine. We’re ready. We’ve made this dessert a million times.”
“Under pressure? While being interviewed? While he watches and judges every move?”
“We’ll be fine.”
Bash looked at her. Really looked at her. “I almost kissed you.”
Ivy’s breath caught. “I know.”
“That would have been—”
“I know.”
“We can’t—this is complicated, Ivy. The dessert. The partnership. The town watching our every move. If we—if this becomes something and it doesn’t work out—”
“I know,” Ivy said again. Because she did know. She knew all the reasons this was a bad idea. But she also knew how her heart raced when he looked at her. How safe she felt when he was around. How right it felt to work beside him.
“We should focus on the interview,” Bash said, but his voice lacked conviction. “Get through tomorrow. Then we can—we can talk about this.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
But neither of them moved. They stood in Ivy’s kitchen, the almost-kiss hanging between them like something tangible.
“I wanted to kiss you,” Bash said quietly. “Just so you know. I really wanted to.”
“Me too.”
“And after tomorrow—after the interview—I want to do this properly. Take you to dinner. Somewhere that’s not either of our kitchens. Somewhere we can just… talk. About us. If there is an us.”
Ivy’s smile felt too big for her face. “I’d like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Bash smiled. Actual smiled. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll impress the hell out of Thorne. Then we’ll figure out whatever this is.”
“Deal.”
He moved toward the door, then paused. “For the record? You’re incredible. And I’m terrified of this—of you—but I can’t stop thinking about you. Haven’t been able to stop since you showed up with that ridiculous cupcake apron and terrible music.”
Ivy laughed. “My music is great.”
“Your music is objectively awful.”
“Says the man who was humming Taylor Swift last week.”
He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Leo told you that?”
“Margot heard you. Told me. Town gossip network.”
Bash groaned. “This town is terrible.”
“This town is the best.”
They looked at each other. Something warm and bright and terrifying passing between them.
“Goodnight, Ivy,” Bash said finally.
“Goodnight, Bash.”
He left, and Ivy stood alone in her kitchen surrounded by desserts and possibility.
Tomorrow, the interview. Tomorrow, they’d show James Thorne what collaboration looked like.
And then—maybe—they’d figure out what came next.
She touched her cheek where his thumb had been and smiled.
Across the alley, Bash climbed the stairs to his apartment and collapsed onto his bed.
He’d almost kissed her. Had been seconds away from kissing her.
And he wanted to do it again. Wanted to kiss her until they both forgot about critics and festivals and all the very good reasons this was complicated.
His phone buzzed.
Leo: You’re welcome.
Bash: For what?
Leo: For interrupting before you could kiss her and panic and ruin everything. Now you have time to plan. You’re better with plans.
Bash stared at the text.
Leo: Also for the record? She likes you too. Like REALLY likes you. Margot says she’s been talking about you nonstop.
Bash: How does Margot know?
Leo: This town is a gossip mill. Also Margot is psychic I think. Point is: you have a shot. Don’t screw it up tomorrow.
Bash: Helpful.
Leo: I know. Sleep well, Chef. Big day tomorrow. Try not to dream about your baker girlfriend.
Bash: She’s not my girlfriend.
Leo: Yet.
Bash put his phone on airplane mode and stared at the ceiling.
Ivy Sinclair. Sunshine personified. Terrible taste in music. Makes him want to be softer. Makes him laugh. Makes him feel like maybe he deserves something good.
Tomorrow, they’d show the critic their collaboration.
And after that—if she still wanted him, if this was real—maybe they’d start something that terrified him almost as much as it thrilled him.
He fell asleep thinking about the way she’d looked at him. Like he was something worth having.
Like he was enough.
Reader Reactions