Page 47 of Pinch Perfect

“You staying?” he asks softly. Not nervous, just wanting the words.

“Not just for the class?” I tease.

“Not for the class,” he says, his fingers brushing my hip. “For real.”

I hold his gaze. “I’m staying,” I say. “With you and Maisie and this bakery that somehow adopted me.”

He presses a soft kiss to my lips, and I melt into it, kissing him back because nothing has ever felt more right. When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.

“Good,” he murmurs.

“Good?” I echo.

He smiles. “Perfect.”

The oven timer dings loudly, and the room erupts into applause. Couples swarm back to their stations, laughing and bumping hips as they pull out trays of imperfect, lopsided, absolutely wonderful cookies.

Maisie returns to us with a drawing in hand, another picture of the three of us. This time I’m wearing a tiara, Liam has a chef hat, and she’s still in glitter.

“I made a new one,” she says proudly. “This one is for the bakery wall.”

Liam lifts her up. “We’ll put it right in the front.”

She nods solemnly. “Because we’re a team.”

I look at the two of them, this man who fought so hard to stay closed and opened anyway, and this little girl with frosting on her cheek and too much love to hold in her tiny body, and I’ve finally found my way home.

Liam meets my eyes over Maisie’s shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t have to.

Some things don’t need words. Some things are just a promise. And this sweet beginning is ours.

A pinch of perfect. Exactly enough.