15-05-2021-052358It-Ends-with-Us

There have been times I’ve wondered if I could ever allow myself to trust a
guy. For the most part, I hate men because the only example I have is my father.
But spending all this time with Atlas is changing me. Not in a huge way, I
don’t think. I still distrust most people. But Atlas is changing me enough to
believe that maybe he’s an exception to the norm.
He stopped kissing me and picked up the bowl again. He walked it over to
the opposite counter and started spooning dough onto two cookie sheets.
“You want to know a trick to cooking with a gas oven?” he asked.
I’m not sure I really ever cared about cooking before, but he somehow made
me want to know everything he knew. It might have been how happy he looked
when he talked about it.
“Gas ovens have hot spots,” he said as he opened the oven door and put the
cookie sheets inside. “You have to be sure and rotate the pans so they’ll cook
evenly.” He closed the door and pulled the oven mitt off his hand. He tossed it
on the counter. “A pizza stone helps, too. If you just keep it in the oven, even
when you aren’t baking pizza, it helps eliminate the hot spots.”
He walked over to me and placed his hands on either side of me. The
electricity kicked on right as he was pulling down the collar of my shirt. He
kissed the spot on my shoulder he always loves kissing and slowly slid his
hands up my back. I swear, sometimes when he’s not even here I can still feel
his lips on my collarbone.
He was about to kiss me on the mouth when we heard a car pull into the
driveway and the garage door start to open. I jumped off the island, looking
around the kitchen frantically. His hands went up to my cheeks and he made
me look at him.
“Keep an eye on the cookies. They’ll be finished in about twenty minutes.”
He pressed his lips to mine and then released me, rushing to the living room to
grab his backpack. He made it out the back door right when I heard the engine
to my father’s car shut off.
I started gathering all the ingredients together when my father walked into
the kitchen from the garage. He looked around and then saw the light on in the
oven.
“Are you cooking?” he asked.
I nodded because my heart was beating so fast, I was scared he’d hear the
trembling in my voice if I responded out loud. I scrubbed for a moment at a
spot on the counter that was perfectly clean. I cleared my throat and said,
“Cookies. I’m baking cookies.”