“The scowl’s not quite right yet.” His fingerdabbed a tiny adjustment to the frosting mouth, his own lips curved in amusement.
Did the man want me to dump sprinkles in his eyes?
I focused on my gingerbread, intending to slap some random frosting on it and be done. But as I squeezed the piping bag, my hands seemed to move with a rhythm I didn’t consciously direct. White lines swirled into intricate patterns, creating a snowflake across the cookie’s surface.
My fingers hovered over the design, a strange déjà vu washing over me. I’d made this exact pattern before. Many times.
“That’s beautiful.” Dash’s voice was soft beside me.
I stared at my work. “I don’t know how I did that.”
For a heartbeat, the frosting gleamed with an inner light, pulsing once beneath my fingertip. I jerked my hand back as if it had burned me.
Dane and Dash exchanged a quick glance over my head.
“What was that?” My voice came out as a whisper.
“Your connection.” Dane’s usual playfulness had vanished. “To the... the Jingle.”
I grabbed another cookie, focusing intently as I repeated the pattern, this time adding tiny crystalline details with silver sugar. My breathing slowed. The tightness that had lived between my shoulder blades for as long as I could remember eased slightly.
“I’ve never decorated cookies before.” The lie tasted strange on my tongue, but was it a lie if I didn’t remember?
“Hmm.” Dash’s noncommittal hum spoke volumes.
Three cookies later, I’d relaxed into the rhythm, annoyed to find myself enjoying it. Dane’s commentary on his increasingly ridiculous creations made it impossible not to laugh.
“You have to try one.” Dane nudged a finished cookie toward me.
“I don’t like cookies,” I replied. Which was a lie, considering chocolate chip had already staged a coup in my brain.
“Try this one.” Dash’s eyes held a challenge as he picked up one of my creations and held it up. “Open.”
The cookie hovered inches from my mouth, and the air between us hummed with something I didn’t want to name.
“I don’t even like sweets,” I muttered, yet leaned forward anyway.
My lips parted, and Dash’s thumb brushed against my bottom lip as he fed me the cookie. My eyes fluttered closed, both from his touch and the flavor that hit me like a physical force.
Ginger and cinnamon bloomed across my tongue, but it wasn’t just the taste. It was the warmth spreading from my chest outward, rushing through my limbs.
A half-formed memory shimmered at the edge of my consciousness:laughter echoing off high ceilings, the smell of baking everywhere, small hands covered in flour, and a deep voice telling me it was the best cookie he’d ever seen and that he’d seen billions, if not trillions.
When I opened my eyes, Dash was watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle with heat.
His thumb traced the corner of my mouth, catching a stray crumb. “Tell me again how you hate cookies, Neve.”
I licked my lips, and his eyes tracked the movement. It would be so easy to close the distance between us and kiss him.
Wait. What?
I stood, untying my apron, which felt like it was tied too tight. “I think that’s enough Christmas spirit restoration for one day.”
There was only so much one woman could take, and realizing that I wanted to kiss not just Dash but also Dane and the rest of the men was too much.
Chapter 9
Allergic to Pine
