A Love Restored

(Then)

Flour dust shimmered in the sunlight in Felix’s kitchen. Felix, hair as tousled as a haystack, white with flour, chuckled as he scooped another beaping cup of flour into the already overflowing hol

“A little less Mount Fuji, a little more cupcake batter, please,” I teased, dodging a rogueProperty of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

rogue sprinkle of white that landed on my nose.

“Hey, there are never enough sprinkles, they bring happiness,” he declared, dusting his hands dramatically, sending a miniature blizzant of flour across the counter. I groaned, my inner neat freak battling with the infectious grin tugging at my lips.

“Happiness, or a flour–covered kitchen disaster?” I countered, grabbing a damp cloth and swiping at the white cascade,

He scowled. “Don’t yell at me, Mom.”

“Well, don’t make a mess! Who’s gonna clean up after you?“:

He thought for a long while. “Um…..I cooked, so you can clean.”

“You absolutely did not cook,” I rolled my eyes. “Liar.”

He grinned. “So, are we making cupcakes or blondies?”

“You tell me

“Bath,” he winked, his chocolate eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, life’s too short to worry about a little mess. Besides,” he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, Think of it as practice for your future bakery.

My heart skipped a beat. My future bakery, a dream born from whispered conversations and stolen moments in the his house’s sprawling kitchens. A haven of warm ovens and buttery croissants, a place where laughter kneaded the dough and happiness frosted every creation. I’d serve coffee and sweet baked goods.

“Mt future bakery,” I echoed, a blush warming my checks as I caught his gaze. “Where you get to make all the four volcanoes you want, and I get to clean up.

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound ringing like wind chimes through the sun–drenched kitchen. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, our fingers brushing as we reached for the same mixing spoon. My stomach did a cartwheel, a familiar flutter that always seemed amplified in his presence.

“Speaking of future,” a voice chimed in, breaking the spell. Mrs. Corsino, her eyes twinkling with amusement, stood in the doorway, the sunlight halaing her curly hair. “Seems like you two are already practicing for married life. All this bickering about four and frosting…just like an old couple.”

Felix groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Mom, please!”

I felt my cheeks bum, a mixture of embarrassment and something else, something secret tucked away in the corners of my heart. The idea of being Felix’s wife, not just a fantasy whispered in sugary kitchens, sent a thrill through me.

Mrs. Corsino winked at me, her smile understanding. “Don’t worry, darlings,” she said, her voice soft. “Save the bickering for when you’re actually old and married. Then it I be cute.”

With a final chuckle, she left, leaving

Felix and

me standing amidst the flour–dusted battlefield of our cupcake batter. He scratched the back of his neck

a nervus habit 1 found endearing.

he mumbled, avoiding my gaze. “Less bickering then?”

My smile bloomed, catching the sunlight like a sunflower. “Less bickering,” 1 agreed, my voice barely a whisper. “But only until they replace cute with grumpy old couple.”

so

He let out a relieved laugh, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that set my breath on fire. “Deall,” he said, his voice dropping to a husk. “And just sa you know, you ll be the cutest grumpy old lady ever.

My heart swelled with a joy as sweet and airy as the batter we were whipping up

And in that moment, as Felix took my hand, his fingers warm and calloused against mine, I knew one thing for sure. His promise, whispered amidst the chaos of cupcake batter, was one I intended to hold him to. He would be my bakery partner, my four volcano co–conspirator, and yes, someday, my grumpy old husband. And I, well, I would be his sunshine wife.

Alright, batter boss,” I declared, dusting the last speck of flour from my nose, “time to test our culinary masterpiece.”

Felix, ever the showman, grabbed two piping bags from the drawer, flourishing them like swords in a duel “Prepare to be amazed, my fair cupcake queen! These babies shall be the envy of every bakeshop in this whole wide city!”

We filled the bags, his with white buttercream and mine with chocolate cream, until they resembled chubby, frosting–tipped balloons. With exaggerated precision, we piped swirls of fluffy delight onto the waiting cupcake liners, our hands occasionally bumping, sending shivers down my spine sweeter than any sugar rush.

When we were done, my cupcakes did look decidedly better.

As the cupcakes nestled into the oven, painting the air with warmth and anticipation, Felix collapsed onto a chair, wiping sweat from his brow. “Whew, that was a workout! Think we deserve a little reward, don’t you?”

He winked, and my throat went dry,

*Reward?” 1 echoed, my voice barely a whisper.

He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with a mischief i loved all too well. “Just a small taste of our future bakery’s finest… before the official verdict is in,

of course.

Before I could respond, his warm fingers were grazing my chin, tilting my face up to his. I closed my eyes. Oh, it was coming. He was going to kiss me.

Just then, he put frosting from his fingertips all over my face.

1

“Felix!” I groaned.

He fell back laughing. “You look so cute! Please, don’t wash it!”

I scowled at him, and marched to the washroom to wash my hands and face. When I came back, he was eating the leftover frosting with a spoon.

se that tomorrow for the real bake sale, not the practice session?

“I thought we were going to use

He grinned, “We can make more.”

Suddenly, the oven timer blared, shattering our fragile bubble of stolen time.. We both scrambled to their feet, a nervous energy crackling between us as thick as the rising scent of baked cupcakes.

“Right, cupcakes!” I hopped over excitedly to the oven. “Gotta check on our culinary babies.”

Felix chuckled, the sound as warm as the golden glow emanating from the oven.

I threw him a mock glare, but the smile playing on my lips betrayed me.

As I opened the oven door, revealing a batch of perfectly golden cupcakes, Felix reached for the oven mittens and pulled the tray out. He poked a finger in one and swore, “Jesus Christ!”

He ran to the sink, running the water on his burnt finger. “Its uncooked!” He sang in pain, “Why didn’t you stop me? And its so hot!”

I smiled smugly. “Serves you well for the frosting on my face.”

“You’ll be a terrible wife, Flora” tie said, “You don’t care enough about me.”

I smiled. I cared enough to last twenty lifetimes.