Page 32 of Angelic Acts
Once I’m ready for bed, I study my Lizzy flashcards like I’m being tested on them tomorrow. Like failing means losing everything. Because I am, and it does. Tomorrow is the first day I put my knowledge into practice. I can’t risk missing anything. Not with my angel.
Chapter 15
Lizzy
Hugging the still-warm loaf to my chest, I walk around the street to Bash’s house. My sexy neighbor. The one who saved me last night. My heart soars at the reminder even as my cheeks redden.
My surprise at his appearance quickly turned to relief. I instantly knew I could trust him. I mean, this man has been watching out for me on our runs for several years. He waits until I make it inside my house to going to his. He’s never pushed for anything between us, leaving me to my own devices.
And I was right to trust him. He was the perfect gentleman when he brought me home. Actually, he was more than that. When he moved my legs, electric shocks pulsed through me. For the first time in forever, I was reacting normally to a man. And what a man he is. He didn’t even mean anything by it. He just wanted to make sure I was safe.
Stopping at his front door, I take a moment to center myself. Or at least try to. Because as soon as I picture his bright smile and black-rimmed glasses, I’m grinning like a schoolgirlwith her first crush. I can’t seem to contain my giddiness nor the butterflies in my stomach.
Still grinning like a fool, I knock on his door. In only a few seconds, it’s swinging open. And there he is. The sweater he has on hugs his muscles perfectly as do his jeans. He looks so warm and welcoming that I get the urge to launch myself into his arms. But I refrain. Because that’s insane.
“Good morning, Lizzy.” His eyes trail over me languidly. I would swear I saw something akin to hunger in his gaze, but it quickly disappears, leaving me certain it was just my imagination.
“Good morning, Bash. Thank you again for this. And for last night.” I meet his hooded eyes, and time seems to slow. Without words, I try to convey my gratitude.
“It’s no problem. I’m relieved I was there to help you.” He looks behind me, as if just noticing I didn’t drive myself here. “You know I would have driven over to pick you up.”
“I like walking. Plus, I didn’t want the bread to get jostled in the car.” His gaze drops to the bundle in my arms, and like any man when presented with baked goods, he breaks out a wolfish grin. Hunger battles with something unreadable in his expression.
“Bread? For me?” The disbelief in his voice thrills me. Clearly waking early to bake for him was the right decision.
“I made you double chocolate banana bread. I’ve been working on perfecting this recipe, so you’ll have to let me know how it is.”
He makes a guttural growling sound low in his throat that causes a flutter low in my stomach. His arms reach out as if to grab the bread from me, but at the last second, he drops them and rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish.
“Thank you.” His voice comes out raspy. He coughs then steps aside. “Please, come inside. If you haven’t eaten, we can cut into this bread.”
His eyes never leave the baked good, so I hand it over. He cradles it to his chest as if it were a newborn baby, precious and fragile. I follow him into the kitchen, only for him to pause and shout, “Close your eyes!”
Instantly, I obey, squeezing my lids shut. I hear him muttering curses under his breath as he prods around his kitchen. There’s some clanking as he does whatever it is he’s doing. I can’t quite make it out, but after a cabinet closes, he releases a breath.
“You can open your eyes now.” He’s beat red when I open them, clearly embarrassed. It’s a cute look on him. “Sorry. My kitchen was a mess, and I can’t have you thinking I’m a slob.”
I’m not sure what kind of mess a kitchen could be in that wouldn’t require water running to clean it, but I don’t question it.
“It’s totally fine. I shouldn’t have invited myself in.”
“Nonsense. I invited you in. Now, I have to try this bread.” He opens a cabinet and produces a small cutting board. Then pulls a bread knife from the knife block and gets to work. Within a minute, he has two slices plated.
“End piece or middle?” he asks.
“It doesn’t matter. And you don’t have to share with me,” I try to tell him, but I’m met with a dumbfounded expression.
“Of course, I’m going to share with you. This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a while. Plus, you need to know how it is to compare your recipes.” He hands me the middle slice, which, for some reason, makes me believe that’s his preferred one.
“You deserve it after all you’ve done for me. I’m tempted to bake you treats for the next month.” The offer is met with aboyish grin of delight that decides for me. I’m going to do just that.
He takes a large bite with his fork, groaning when it hits his tongue. Chewing slowly, he savors the first bite, and I can’t help but watch him as he appreciates my baking. The rest of his slice disappears in a blink of an eye as he wolfs it down. He serves himself another large slice, hesitates, then adds a second one to his plate.
I look away as he digs in, giving him a moment of privacy with his breakfast. After a few bites of my own, I look over to see his plate empty again and him reaching for the knife.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I say through a laugh.
He freezes, as though caught in the act, then slowly meets my eyes. “My apologies. It’s delicious. I can’t seem to stop myself,” he admits guiltily.
