The Stranger I Married-Chapter 128: Baking with love

The penthouse was quiet, bathed in the soft gray light of a late morning cloud cover. Nicholas had stepped out to take a call in his office, the door closed behind him with a gentle click, leaving Ella alone in the spacious, sun-drenched kitchen.

She stood at the marble island, barefoot, wearing one of his button-down shirts over her camisole and shorts — the sleeves too long, the hem brushing her thighs. Her wrist twinged when she moved it too fast, and the dull ache in her ribs reminded her she should be resting. But something else tugged at her more.

She wanted to do something for him.

Not out of obligation. Not because he asked — he never would. But because, since the accident, Nicholas had poured so much of himself into making sure she was okay. The sleepless nights. The quiet way he helped her sit up, the gentleness with which he bathed her, cradled her when she cried. She wanted to give something back. Something soft. Something hers.

So she reached for the mixing bowl with her good hand and dragged it gently toward her. Flour dusted the counter. The scent of vanilla hung in the air. This wasn’t a grand gesture — just her favorite cookies, the ones she’d loved since she was little. Chewy, browned at the edges, warm with cinnamon and a little sea salt. She hadn’t made them in years.

She wasn’t even sure he’d like them.

That was the point.

Her heart beat a little faster as she cracked the eggs and stirred with careful motions, her wrist wrapped loosely in a brace. She moved slowly, methodically, balancing between caution and determination. When a tear of frustration burned at the corner of her eye — because she’d dropped the measuring spoon or spilled sugar across the marble — she blinked it back, inhaled deep, and kept going.

Nicholas had done so much. This felt small in comparison, but it was hers. A piece of her heart in a bowl of dough.

By the time she placed the first batch into the oven, her hair was half-pinned, strands falling into her face, her sleeves flour-dusted and the tip of her nose smudged. She leaned on the counter, breathing in the familiar scent as the cookies baked.

The sound of footsteps behind her startled her a little. She turned just as Nicholas came into the kitchen, barefoot in sweats and a black T-shirt, brow furrowed with something that softened instantly when he saw her.

He took in the scene — her at the stove, flour everywhere, something golden and warm filling the air — and blinked once.

"...Ella?"

She gave him a shy, sheepish look. "Hi."

His voice was soft, but concerned. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I—" She straightened slightly, hiding the wince. "I was trying something."

He stepped closer, slowly, cautiously, like he didn’t want to scold her but couldn’t help the protective instinct flaring in his chest. His hand hovered near her waist. "You’re hurting."

"I’m fine. Just a little sore." Her gaze flicked to the oven. "I... wanted to make you something."

Nicholas blinked. "For me?"

She nodded. "They’re my favorite cookies. I’ve never made them for anyone before."

That caught him off guard more than anything else had. Not the fact that she baked. Not even the soft defiance in doing it while healing. But the quiet vulnerability in her voice — the way she offered something of hers, something personal, not knowing if he’d like it. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

He looked at her like she’d just handed him a constellation.

The oven beeped, and Ella turned, moving carefully to pull the tray out. He was immediately behind her, one hand hovering like he’d catch her if she swayed. She placed the hot sheet on the counter, the cookies soft in the middle and crisp around the edges.

They weren’t perfect. A little uneven. One slightly burnt on the corner.

But they were warm. Hers.

She took a breath, then offered him one on a napkin.

Nicholas didn’t speak as he took it from her hand. He looked at the cookie, then at her again, and bit into it.

Ella bit her lip.

He chewed slowly, brows raised, and then his lips parted in a quiet sound of delight. "Oh... my God."

Her breath hitched. "You like it?"

"I love it," he said, honestly, reverently. "This is incredible."

Her whole body softened. "Really?"

He took another bite like he couldn’t help himself. "Why didn’t you tell me you could bake like this?"

"I don’t, usually," she murmured, looking away, brushing her hair back with flour-dusted fingers. "I just... I was thinking about you. And I wanted to do something. I wanted to know if you’d like something that I love."

Nicholas didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he stepped closer. She thought he’d tease her, maybe swipe a bit of flour from her nose or say something playful.

But he didn’t.

He just looked at her — really looked — and then leaned in, cupping her cheek with the hand not holding a half-eaten cookie. "You did all this for me?"

She nodded. "I know it’s small—"

"It’s not," he said firmly. "Ella, it’s not small. You’re still healing. You should’ve been resting. And instead, you stood in here, doing something quiet and sweet and so very you — just to make me smile."

Her eyes glistened, but she blinked quickly, swallowing it back.

"I don’t need grand gestures," he said softly. "This—" he gestured at the tray—"this means more than anything else could."

She smiled, shy and radiant.

He kissed her — soft, flour-sweet lips, his hand cradling the side of her face like she was breakable. When he pulled back, he looked down and grinned. "You’re covered in flour."

"I was improvising," she said, mock-serious.

"You’re adorable."

"You’re just saying that because I fed you."

"Absolutely," he said. "And I intend to bribe you for more."

She laughed, easing into his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her gently.

In that moment, it didn’t matter that she still had bruises, or that she was healing. It didn’t matter how chaotic the last week had been.

Here, in the warm quiet of the kitchen, with the scent of cinnamon and sea salt in the air, and Nicholas nuzzling flour into her cheek with a grin — Ella felt like the most seen, the most loved she’d ever been.

And Nicholas?

He’d never tasted anything sweeter.