“Used to what?” I ask, looking back at her, even though I know the answer.
“This. With you,” she says, tilting her head to look up at me. Her eyes are luminous in the kitchen light, sparkling with something vulnerable and daring at the same time. “Baking cookies. Spending time together.”
I spin around and kiss the top of her head. “Me too.”
Em clears her throat. “I do believe you promised to make out with me now,” she challenges.
“I did,” I whisper before pressing my lips to her.
She moans as I dip my tongue inside her mouth. Clings to me as she kisses me back.
For ten short minutes, it’s just me and Emmy like we were always meant to be.
The kitchen timer buzzes and I pull the first batch of cookies out. Em gets them onto the cooling rack and then we’re filling the next tray with more dough.
By the third tray, we’re both covered in flour. She smudges some across my cheek intentionally, and I retaliate with a smear across her nose. She squeals and laughs, tipping her head back so I can press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“This is unfair,” she mutters between laughs. “You’re supposed to be baking cookies, trying to distract me.”
I press my forehead to hers. “I could say the same to you, Em.”
We work through the remaining dough together, mixing, laughing, stealing kisses between batches. When the last tray goes into the oven, we collapse onto the stools at the counter, hands entwined, shoulders brushing.
The oven timer dings again, pulling us back to reality just long enough to take the cookies out, warm and golden. I hand her a fresh, steaming cookie, and she bites into it slowly, eyes closing in bliss. I watch her, memorizing every expression, every little sigh of satisfaction while my cock hardens behind my zipper.
She mumbles through a mouthful of cookie, cheeks flushed, “this tastes like magic.”
I lean down, brushing my lips to hers again. “Magic’s just what happens when you’re with the right person.”
She laughs, brushing her nose against mine. “Then I guess I’m in the right place.”
I squeeze her hand, pressing my forehead to hers again. “Always,” I whisper, tasting the sweetness of the moment—and her—like it will last forever.
seven
. . .
Emmy
“That’s it.That’s the last cookie.”
“Cleaning up is always my least favorite part,” I playfully pout.
The mess is nothing compared to the disaster my kitchen at Dockside Cafe ends up looking like when I’ve finished up all my orders for the day, but it’s still significant.
“That’s why you won’t be cleaning up tonight.”
“Hayes!” I laugh. “I wasn’t implying that you should do it. I can help.”
“Nope,” he shakes his head and reaches over me to grab a glass from the cabinet behind me.
I watch as he pours a glass of milk and sets it on the counter next to a plate of warm cookies.
“You sit and savor. I’ve got this.”
I start to protest, but Hayes cuts me off with a kiss.
“Relax. This won’t take long.”
