A smile tugs at my mouth. “Maybe.”
“Hayes.” She steps closer, eyes locked on mine. Searching. Softening. “Tell me.”
I take the warm half of the cookie from her hand and lift it between us, careful not to brush her fingers even though I ache to. “Maple extract,” I say quietly. “Just a drop. The same brand Pappy used to keep in that old dented tin on the top shelf.”
She puts a hand on her forehead and gasps. “You remember that?”
“Of course I do,” I murmur, suddenly unable to look anywhere but at her. “We spent half our childhoods in your grandfather’s kitchen. He practically raised us on that stuff.”
Her eyes glisten, emotion trembling on her lashes. “I forget things,” she admits in a small voice. “Everyone says the sense of smell is the strongest memory trigger, but… I’d forgotten that smell. That taste. That feeling.”
She presses the cookie half to her chest like she wants to keep it there forever.
Then, softer than I’ve ever heard her: “Thank you.”
I don’t touch her. Not yet. But I swear the space between us hums like a live wire.
“For what?” I ask.
She finally meets my eyes, open and bare. “For giving me back something I didn’t even know I lost.”
That’s it. That’s the moment that breaks me and I lose all sense of self-control.
I reach out and pull Emmy to me, licking the cookie crumbs from her lips before kissing her like I’ve been dying to since prom night. She freezes at first and my heart beats loudly, terrified that she’s going to push me away. But then she softens. Em’s arms wrap around my neck, tugging me even closer to her and she kisses me back.
Her tongue dances with mine. The urge to pick her up and pin her against the wall roars inside of me but I won’t take her like this. Not here. For now, I’ll have to enjoy the passion in this kiss.
I don’t know how long we stay lip locked until Emmy’s phone pings, ending our perfect moment.
She jumps, startled, and immediately races for her phone that’s on the other side of the kitchen. Her gaze skitters everywhere but me—over the racks, the mixing bowls, the timer flashing 00:00—but the pink still dusting her cheeks tells me she’s replaying that kiss in her mind. Hell, so am I.
“We should get back to work. Those cookies aren’t going to bake themselves,” she finally says, flustered—gloriously, adorably flustered.
Emmy’s almost never flustered in a kitchen. This is her kingdom. Her safe place. Her rhythm. Seeing her this shaken, this undone, because of me…I feel it down in my soul.
I step closer. Not touching her. Not pushing anything. Just close enough that she can feel my heat, close enough that she knows the moment didn’t scare me off.
Her breath hitches.
“Em.” My voice is low, still rough from kissing her senseless. “We don’t have to pretend that didn’t happen.”
Her fingers tighten around her phone. “I—I know. I’m not—” She swallows. “I’m not pretending. But we do have work to finish,” she adds more quietly. “Evie is probably going to show up again later and interrogate us both until one of us breaks.”
I huff a laugh. “Evie would break me in under five minutes.”
“That’s generous.” She finally looks at me again, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “Three, tops.”
The tension shifts—still hot, still thick, but gentler now. Easier to breathe. I don’t want to push her into anything she’s not ready for. Not after all these years of wanting her and keeping my distance.
So I nod. “Okay. Back to work.”
She turns away to grab a clean sheet tray, but her hands tremble, just barely.
She’s rattled. I did that. And she kissed me back.
The knowledge thrums through me like wildfire.
She sets the tray down. “Can you start scooping the next batch? Just the regular size for the kids.”
