Mirabella
I bit back a scream, but the mixing bowl slipped from my hands. I winced and instinctively covered my eyes, bracing for the loud crash against the kitchen tiles. But... there was no sound.
Slowly, I opened one eye. The bowl hadn’t hit the floor—it was suspended in a steady hand. I followed the arm up and blinked in surprise.
“Antarctica—no, wait... Antonio.”
I let out a shaky sigh of relief.
“You just saved the night,” I said, laughing nervously, brushing my hair from my face. “Otherwise, I’d be down here cleaning cupcake batter off the floor at 2 a.m.”
He smiled, that calm, easy smile of his, and handed the bowl back to me.
“What are you doing up so late?” he asked, his voice low and warm in the quiet kitchen.
I gestured around me, a little sheepishly. “Baking.”
I stirr
