She’s bent over a tray, adding the finishing touches to a batch of star-shaped cookies glazed in gold.
“Well,” she says, not looking up, “I need to finish decorating these, then in the morning I’ll box them up for the gala.”
I move closer, drawn like gravity. “How about I help you tonight?”
She glances up, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure me out.
“Eb, you’ve been here all day. Aren’t you tired?”
“Not really.” I shrug, grabbing a piping bag. “Besides, I don’t want this to end.”
Her gaze softens, and something deep inside my chest shifts.
It feels dangerous. Like hope.
So I stay.
We work side by side for a few more hours, eating takeout I have delivered at a little bit extra cost from my favorite spot Pizza Girls sometime during the night.
We eat. We laugh. We talk. And we work.
But it’s more than that.
It’s light and teasing, full of innuendo, and so goddamn perfect.
Her cookies really are incredible.
They taste like Christmas and joy and everything good about the world.
“You’re really talented,” I say, licking a bit of frosting off my thumb.
She smirks.
“Thanks. You’re not half bad yourself, Badger Boy.”
“Badger Boy?”
She grins wider.
“What? Too cute for you?”
“Way too cute,” I growl, stepping closer.
By the time we’re finished, the counters are covered in flour, the floor looks like a blizzard hit, and she’s got a smear of gold icing across her cheek that I have to touch.
Her breath hitches when my thumb brushes her skin.
That spark—the one I’ve been trying to ignore since the moment we met—ignites again, burning straight through me.
“Eb,” she whispers, but it’s not a warning.
I take a step closer. Then another.
“What are you doing, Eb?” she asks softly, her voice trembling.
“I don’t know, Honey,” I admit, my voice low and rough. “But it feels right. Doesn’t it feel right?” I ask and she nods.
Then I kiss her.
