Ben stood at the stove, his midnight strands stuck up in tufts. He dipped the spatula in the pan and flipped over a large pancake with purple speckles. The man was sexy in relaxed jeans, and a dark T-shirt that hugged his upper body.
“Aww…You’re making blueberry pancakes.”
“Your favorite.” Half grin. Right brow arched. She could melt like the butter on the hotcakes.
She leaned back against the counter. “Thought you didn’t like pancakes.”
“I’m an egg-and-meat kind of guy. But every once in a while I’ll crave something sweet.” He handed her a plate. His other brow arched. “I must say, you look especially beautiful in yellow.”
“Oh. Thanks.” She sat at the table and admired the single red rose he’d set out as a centerpiece.
“I picked it for you this morning.” He sat beside her. “I hope you’re not allergic.”
Warmth flooded her face. He’d picked her a flower. No man had ever given her flowers. Except Renji who bought her a bouquet to spruce up her kitchen or the bakery every so often. But Ben had gone out and picked one. Could there be anything more romantic?
“I’m not allergic to flowers.”
“Are you sure?” He took a bite of his pancakes. “Your face is the same shade as the rose.”