My Hockey Alpha by Eve Above Story PDF

Chapter 307

Bonus 7: Frame Job

Nina

I got to work as soon as we reached home.

Mixing bowls, a whisk, a dusting of flour and sugary sweetness in the air that I could taste on my tongue-the kitchen was my sanctuary, and I relished in the task at hand. Making the cake wasn’t merely a chore; it was a testament to our love, a sweet delight to mark our engagement.

It was a meditative practice, too; a way to unwind after everything. As I worked lovingly on the chocolatey batter, I found myself thinking that I would be spending a lot of time baking in this kitchen over the years.

In my peripheral vision, I noticed Enzo fiddling with something in the hallway. Curiosity nudged at me, so I wiped my hands on my apron and tiptoed to the corner.

“Whatcha doing?” I started to ask, but the words died in my throat as I saw him carefully aligning his mother’s picture in a new frame. He didn’t hear me approaching, and so his mannerisms remained natural, fluid, oblivious to my presence.

I watched, transfixed, as he gingerly hung the picture on the wall and took extra care to assure that it was hung straight. There was a sense of finality in his movements, and it finally occurred to me why he had looked so forlorn when he retreated from the hardware store.

This new frame was a final resting place for one of the few remaining relics of his mother, the woman who I had never met. I suddenly felt guilty for whining so much about my mother, who was alive and well, when he had lost both his mother and his father.

A lump formed in my throat. The moment was far too intimate for interruption, and so I quietly retreated to the kitchen, a soft smile playing on my lips as I left Enzo to his somber yet loving task.

Minutes later, Enzo joined me in the kitchen, his eyes brighter, his shoulders relaxed. “Picture looks good on the wall, right?” he asked, not waiting for my response before plunging his finger into the cake batter just as I was about to place the tray in the hot oven.

hand away. “That’s

the fruits of his fiancée’s labor?” he

ready and not full of raw eggs,” I retorted, matching his playful tone. Our laughter echoed in the kitchen, filling the room with warmth. “Well, it’s delicious, raw eggs and all,” he murmured, licking

me, a soft look in his eyes. He moved closer, lifting me onto the counter

arms around his neck and rubbed my nose against his. It occurred to me then that maybe he did notice my presence earlier, but he was too enthralled in his careful work to acknowledge

far -away look, which was only broken when he blinked rapidly and shot me a warm smile.

I asked, a hint of surprise in my

our bodies were pressed up against each other. “Today was one of those

kiss. His lips tasted like chocolate, sweet and sticky.

kisses, his voice thick and sweet like the cake

bit my lip as I stifled a soft moan. ” Seven,” I replied.

and shot me a mischievous look. “So we’ve

to tell him that I still had to make the frosting and we still had to get ready for the

We stayed there, lost in our little world while the aroma of the baking cake filled the air. We didn’t need words; our actions spoke volumes, each touch a testament to our love. Our bodies intertwined into one as we gingerly peeled enough layers of our clothes away to feel one another. We had already made

both sank down onto the kitchen floor and leaned against one another, closing our tired eyes for a few moments of respite before we would have to finish baking the cake and start getting