Disclaimer: I own nothing but my mistakes.

The first time Regina saw him he was attending her Victoria sponge class, claiming his mother's birthday was right around the corner and he wanted to do something special for her after being away from home for too long. It was sweet, and definitely a good first impression. She remembered his name then—Robin, and she rarely ever remembered her students names right after their first class.

The second time was during the Black Forest gateau class and he was struggling to whip up the egg whites to stiff peaks. It was hysterical, seeing him glowering down at the metal bowl and the electric whisk he was clutching so tightly onto, grumbling only God knew what. She took pity on him and helped him out after ten minutes, guiding him step by step. Still yet, the end result wasn't the greatest out of the bunch. He accidentally tore bits and pieces of the cakes while decorating a tad too rough, and it was lopsided rather than centered, but he took pride in his work, beaming from ear to ear—it was hard not to be happy for him and praise him over it.

He attended every other class since, rainstorms and snowfalls never stopped him, nor did a broken leg. Robin showed up with a cast, crutches, bruises and a big, goofy grin on his face, ready to bake some chocolate chip cookies even after tumbling down the stairs of his apartment building.

Regina wasn't supposed to have a favorite, one person she preferred over the others, but that's how it was. There was something about him that made her linger beside him a little longer, check up on him more frequently, and think about him often. She just couldn't get him out of her mind. His British accent, his gentle, blue eyes, quirky personality, and his stupid jokes that she couldn't help but laugh at. His dimples did things to her, and the way he bit his lip whenever he concentrated made her heart flutter. And his smell—oh, his smell. His aftershave smelled like pinewood and that…was oddly comforting.

This wasn't at all what she expected would be the outcome of teaching some baking classes on the side for extra cash. She thought the entire thing would flop, that no one would show up or maybe just a handful of children who wanted to pass time decorating cupcakes and cookies might, and she'd be miserable and drowning in debt. But no, that wasn't how it went. Her classes were a success and money wasn't the only thing she got out of it. She, a grown woman in her mid-thirties, had a crush.

It was pathetic but she was as giddy as a lovestruck high-schooler, impatiently waiting for his arrival at the start of every class and sneaking glances whenever he wasn't looking, and she blushed every time she was caught. And his attention wasn't making things any better. It was fueling her interest, making her crush grow into something deeper. He would compliment her and flirt, compare her eyes to a golden sunset and her smile as the most beautiful creation the universe has ever witnessed, and he would bring her a flower—not a bouquet of dozens of roses or lilies, no, just a single daisy or a carnation, twirling it between his fingers before holding it to her as greeted her, telling her she looked stunning, as he always did. He would stay after every class, too, after everyone was gone, and he'd help her clean up despite arguing and reassuring him that she could do it alone.

He never let her do it alone.

He washed and rinsed while she wiped, and he blew bubbles at her off his soapy hands to make her laugh whenever things got too quiet. She rubbed down the countertops and he put everything in place, randomly sliding across the floor and bursting into song, and she echoed.

"Planning on staying behind today, too?" Regina asked, a coy smile playing over her lips at the feeling of Robin's gaze on her. She could feel his eyes wandering, staring at her from head to toe even with her back turned to him.

"Well," he began, "I did have that in mind, but if you'd rather me go—"

"You and I both know you won't budge," she cut in with a laugh.

"You, milady, are correct." He grinned, moving to stand beside her and playfully bumping his hip with hers, pulling a chuckle out of her. "You know, you always said you liked different kinds of sweets but you never really told us what's your favorite."

"You're asking me, a baker, what my favorite dessert is?" She quirked a brow and glanced to the side at him when he hummed. "What makes you think that I don't just love it all the same?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "You don't strike me as the type that would love fruity desserts as much as chocolatey desserts. I mean, you were pretty excited over the brownies, not so much the mango tart from last week."

He had a point, and he was a good observant. While fruity desserts were delicious, nothing could ever compare to the rich, chocolatey desserts. She'd pick them in a heartbeat.

"Molten lava cake."

"Molten lava cake?"

"Yeah. You know, the cake that oozes with chocolate when you cut into it."

"The little ones that are usually served with ice cream?"

Regina nodded, her mouth watering at the thought of it alone. It was one of her guilty pleasures, her reward after a hard workout, that and cheeseburgers—defeats the whole point of running on the treadmill for half an hour and all the cardio, though. There was something about the warm dessert combined with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream melting atop of it that made it irresistible. Made it something she, a mature grownup, could easily be bribed into anything with.

"Do you think we'll be getting a class on it?" Robin inquired, pressing back against the other side of the sink and folding his arms over his chest.

She dried the last bowl and set it aside, shrugging at his question. "I haven't thought about it."

"I think it'll be perfect now that Valentine's Day is just a couple of weeks away," he reasoned, and she didn't miss the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I mean, what else would be a better way to end a lovely dinner with if not that?"

"Because it's an aphrodisiac?" she cooed, her brows rising to her hairline, and he roared with a wholehearted laughter, making her chuckle, too.

"Would you believe me if I said that didn't cross my mind at all?"

She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "No, not really."

"I promise you it didn't." He grinned. "Though I have to give it to you, that's a good reason. Just imagine, a rich molten lava cake with a ball of creamy ice cream, and maybe some juicy strawberries on the side by the fireplace," he hummed. "It doesn't get any better than that."

"Fireplace?"

"I'm a helpless romance," he justified, "I'm a sucker for cheesy things."

"And…are you planning all this for a special lady?"

The question left her mouth before she had the chance to rethink it and, maybe, word it differently to avoid seeming desperate. She wasn't. But she was curious—was there a special lady in his life? Selfishly, she hoped not.

"Depends," he drawled, pushing himself away and walking out of the kitchen, leaving her puzzled at his short answer.

"Depends?" She followed, stopping by the archway with knitted brows.

"Well, you see," he started, hopping onto the surface of the workplace. "There's this lady that I really, really like. I've known her for a little under a year."

Regina's eyes widened slightly in realization. They met a little under a year ago, so he was either talking about her or she was being too hopeful. Probably the latter, though—she was covered in flour and powdered sugar the majority of time, she wore baggy clothes and whatever else that was plain and simple, often things that didn't quite match, and her hair was always up in a messy bun or a quick ponytail. He, on the other hand, was attractive. He dressed nicely, casually but neatly, button-down shirts with rolled up sleeves that had her subconsciously biting her lip at the sight of his arms, wondering how they'd feel around her. Pants that distracted her from giving her lessons and blessed her with the best views. She stared, shameless, as she knew he stared at her, too. She felt his eyes on her, his long-lasting gaze every time she wore skinny jeans or leggings. She purposely wore them more often.

But no way was it her. He could've easily met a handful of other women in a little under a year, women that were equally as attractive as him, women who didn't trip over their own feet or furiously look around for the glasses that were on the top of their head for ten minutes straight.

She cleared her throat and looked away, attempting to put her focus elsewhere. "Oh yeah?"

He nodded, his wide smile baring his dimples. "And she's absolutely spectacular," he continued, "she's kind, hysterical, and she tends to be a little clumsy sometimes, which I find adorable." He chuckled, forcing her attention back to him. He went quiet when she caught his gaze but his smile stayed, soft and spontaneous, and then he added, "And she's completely out of my league."

Everything he said and the way he said it made her think that he, perhaps, was talking about her, but her mind refused to acknowledge that option. She was kind, not that she went around gloating about it and listing all her good deeds, and she did love making people laugh, and she was quite the clumsy person, however, not in any way was she out of his league. If anything, it was the other way around.

He clicked his tongue and shrugged his shoulders, clasping his hands in his lap with a sigh. "I'd love for her to be my Valentine, but I'm not so sure if she'd accept."

"Did you ask her?"

"No."

"Then how will you know what she thinks? She might say yes."

"Maybe."

The subject died at his answer and it went quiet again, a slight tinge of awkwardness in the air caused by her overthinking the possibility that maybe it was her. Maybe she was the one who he had his eyes on, or maybe not. Maybe she fell too hard and got lost too deep in his ocean hues, she just wasn't thinking straight anymore.

"You know," she said, turning to face him with pursed lips. "All this talk about desserts and Valentine's Day made me crave some chocolate. What do you say I give you a free lesson on how to make the perfect molten lava cake?"

His face lit up, a toothy grin spreading across his face, and he nodded. "Lead the way, Your Majesty."

Regina cracked the eggs while Robin chopped up eight ounces of chocolate, four ounces of milk chocolate and four ounces of dark, measuring them in a glass bowl with the cubed butter. He melted them together over a bain-marie while she mixed the eggs with sugar and salt, adding the chocolate to it once it was all dissolved before he folded in the flour.

She was never the one to enjoy someone standing beside her in the kitchen, helping her with whatever task it might be. She found it irritating rather than therapeutic and soothing, being a perfectionist and having to worry about things being done the right way, but she loved every second she spent with Robin. His presence was relaxing and he made her laugh with all the lame puns he threw in the midst of it all.

"No, no." Regina stopped him when he reached for the flour after greasing the ramekins, swatting his hand away and sliding the cocoa powder in front of him instead. "Whenever you're using this method while baking something chocolatey, use cocoa powder, not flour. Trust me, it makes a difference."

He straightened his shoulders, put on his best poker face and nodded his head. "Yes, chef!"

She laughed and he chortled right beside her.

He was an idiot but, God, did she adore how much of an idiot he was.

"Now we just wait for ten minutes and they should be done," she announced.

"That's it?" He gaped at her nod, eyes wide in disbelief. "That's a lot easier than I thought it would be. I thought it would be so much harder with all these weird tricks and techniques."

"I'm sure there are tricker recipes out there with folding in egg whites, mixing the egg yolks to a ribbon stage, et cetera. But this is my go-to recipe, it's simple and quick, and you really don't need to do anything other than just toss everything together and shove it in the oven."

"Well." He inclined his head slightly, his lips tipping upward into a smile at her snort. "Thank you, master, for teaching me all your secrets."

She raised her chin and hummed, deciding to go along with it and get into her role, too. "You're a good apprentice."

He grinned. "That, coming from you, is a great honor. But," he paused, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. "Will you make me even happier and answer me this question?"

Odd as his request was, she nodded with creased brows. "Sure."

"You're right. I'll never know if I never ask, and if I wait around longer, I might miss my chance." He took a breath and reached behind him for the pink dahlia he picked on the way over and gave her at the beginning of the lesson, getting down on one knee and holding it toward her with a wide, cheeky smile on his face. "So, Regina, will you be my Valentine?"

While part of her, a small one, suspected it, nothing could've prepared her for the question. It wasn't a proposal, he wasn't asking her to marry him and ride off to the sunset with him and yet, that didn't tame her wild heartbeats. But she'd be darn stupid if she said no.

"Do you think you can pull of the molten lava cake on your own?"

"I sure hope so, or else I'll just make a fool out of myself for failing to do something as easy as that." He grinned, taking a step closer to her, trapping her between his body and the counter behind her. He lifted one hand and tucked a strand behind her ear, and her instincts had her leaning into his touch with a smile of her own. "But I can promise you I will do it repeatedly until I get it right if you accept."

She wetted her lips and nodded. "It's a date then."