Chapter 167: Apple pie

Pulling the apples from the microwave, I transferred them into a large bowl. Trying not to burn my fingers on the hot pieces, I grabbed a spoon and began slowly folding them together with honey and cinnamon.

The viscous sweetness clung to the softened fruit, coating it completely and trickling down the sides while the brown specks of spice stuck to every single slice. A scent so rich and fragrant spread through the kitchen that it felt thick enough to eat straight out of the air.

Matthias sat on a chair beside me, resting his elbows on the table and watching my every move with a seriousness most children reserved only for cartoons. His leg twitched nervously, his heel tapping against the floor tiles, and his eyes kept darting toward the bowl so greedily that I could almost physically feel his impatience.

He was utterly ecstatic over the simple fact that I was baking his favorite apple pie today instead of experimenting with something new—especially after he had blabbed to Derek with absolute honesty that his pie was "just okay, pretty good, but Mom’s is better."

Derek had pretended he didn’t mind, but he had spent the entire day sulking like a giant inflated balloon, and right now he was marinating meat with the sour look of a man whose culinary ego had been blasted by a rocket launcher.

I smoothed the filling evenly across the baking dish, draped the dough over the top, and, opening the oven door, slid the pie inside, feeling a sudden wave of heat scorch my face and hands.

Once upon a time, I used to bake this exact same pie for Magnus. I still remembered how I used to secretly steal glances at him, trying to figure out if he was lying whenever he claimed he didn’t like sweets—even while eating them. Back then, he would eat in complete silence, never taking his eyes off his plate until he finished every last crumb, making me suspect he was just being polite.

Only later did I realize he truly hated sweets. He simply ate them because they came from me. That memory, as strange as it was, still tugged warmly at my heart, leaving behind a deep, lingering sweetness under my ribs.

Last night, he had left on business, while I lay in bed, face buried in the pillow, unable to even move a finger properly.

It felt as though he had drained every last drop of strength out of me, burning through every cell. My body still remembered his touch, his movements, his scent, his weight.

And yet, somehow, he had managed to get up, shower, dress, and drive off to handle matters he didn’t even care to discuss. Sometimes, I truly couldn’t fathom where he got so much energy—it was as if he had a separate internal battery that never ran flat.

Slamming the oven door shut and wiping my hands on a towel, I glanced at the table where an immaculate folder of documents lay—the papers he had handed me last night, asking me to review them.

"Mom, when can we eat the pie?" Matthias’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "And can I have ice cream with it?"

His hands never stopped petting Caramel, who lay at his feet with an air of saintly patience, letting him stroke her head, ears, and neck. The Doberman blinked stoically, but occasionally her dark eyes flicked over to me, practically broadcasting: Take this little tyrant away from me and maybe I’ll forgive you someday—especially if you give me that piece of meat in the bowl.

"Very soon," I replied, checking the oven timer as the minutes slowly ticked away. "Once it cools down a bit, we can eat."

Magnus’s assurances that Caramel wouldn’t harm either me or our son were comforting, but somewhere deep inside, my maternal instinct kept whispering that even the gentlest dog remains a predator. Every time Matthias practically lay across her, wrapping his arms around her neck, something inside me clenched tightly. I tracked the twitch of her ears and every subtle shift of muscles under her coat.

"The ice cream is in the chest freezer in the pantry," Derek said without turning, gesturing with his broad shoulder toward the door while continuing to marinate the meat. "Get the vanilla."

Matthias’s face instantly lit up even brighter; to him, vanilla ice cream paired with warm charlotte was a sacred combination. I walked into the pantry and lifted the heavy lid of the freezer, instantly met by a blast of sub-zero air. Inside lay a haphazard pile of bags, boxes, and colorful wrappers. I began hurriedly digging through them in search of plain vanilla, knowing full well that Matthias detested nuts or chocolate chips in this context. Anywhere else, he’d devour them, but the apple pie called exclusively for pure vanilla.

Among the endless ice pops, cones, and mystery tubs, I finally spotted the right one—the only one with waffle crumbs.

Closing the chest freezer and turning around, I took a step forward and slammed full force into someone’s chest. Hard and hot as flame itself.

My fingers instinctively tightened around the ice cream tub so I wouldn’t drop it, but before I could even draw a breath, strong hands seized me beneath my thighs and hoisted me up in one fluid motion, setting me right onto the edge of the freezer lid.

The chill of the metal pierced right through my thin shorts, biting into my skin so sharply I almost hissed. Yet in that very same second, none of it mattered—because his lips scorched mine in a kiss. Hard. Greedy. The kind of kiss that ripped my world off its axis, making my body tremble and melt instantly.

Magnus.

He stepped between my legs so intimately close that all space between us evaporated. One of his hands gripped my waist, pressing me tightly against his body, while the other slid up to the nape of my neck, tangling in my hair to hold my head steady. I was trapped between the icy metal beneath me and the searing heat before me. The intense contrast shot straight through my nerves like a flash of lightning. A sudden, almost excruciating heat and slick moisture flared between my thighs, my breathing shattered, and every inch of me coiled into one raw, exposed nerve.