Ryder and I enjoy our cookies and hot chocolate together. He only eats his macaron and one peanut butter blossom, but I take a few bites of everything.
“I can’t choose a favorite,” I say after I’m done. “They’re all so good.”
“Thank you,” Madeleine says again. “But I have one more treat for you.”
“Really?”
She nods and lifts the counter to let us in. “Come on, it’s in the kitchen.”
I follow Madeleine to the back, Ryder behind me, and she shows me a setup at the counter of plain cookies…in the shape of a piano.
“I thought you might want to try decorating cookies,” she says, gesturing at the cookies and the icing in piping bags.
“Oh!” I squeal. “I’ve watched so many videos of cookie decorating but never tried. I’d love to!”
“Perfect!” Madeleine stands by my side and instructs me on how to pipe the icing on the cookie and smooth it out.
“Ryder, you can do one, too,” she says, handing him a cookie.
Ryder shrugs and takes a step next to me, rolling up hisblack sleeves to reveal the bracelet I made for him, and above that, his forearms.
Muscled, veined forearms with a light dusting of brown hair.
Ugh.
I did not need to see all of that.
“Here,” Madeleine says, handing him the black icing. “This looks right up your alley.”
He chuckles and starts outlining his piano cookie neatly.
I grab the pastel purple icing bag. Forget reality, I’m making a purple piano cookie. I squeeze the bag, but nothing comes out. I try again—still nothing.
“Hmm,” I say, turning the bag around to look at the tip. Maybe something’s blocking it. I peer at the opening and squeeze a little…and the icing shoots straight at my face and into my eyes.
“Agh!” I cry.
“Oh, no!” Madeleine says. “Let me grab you a towel!” She runs out of the kitchen, and I try my best to wipe off what I can, but I swear some of the icing actually went straight into my eyeball. I’m bouncing on the tips of my toes and squealing, trying to wipe off icing with my eyes squeezed shut, when I feel a strong hand on my wrist.
“Here. Let me help.” Ryder’s voice stills my body.
I stand frozen as I feel fabric on my cheek, then gently on my eye. When he pulls away, I open my eyes quickly and catch a glimpse of him pulling his shirt back down. And for just the quickest moment, I get a peek at his stomach.
Holy abs.
The bottom of his shirt is stained purple from the icing, so that must be what he was using to clean my face.
That shirt…that touches his glorious abs…was just on my face.
Okay, that sounds kind of gross, but it’s really not. Not even close.
“Uh, thanks,” I say, turning back to my cookie.
“You still have some right here,” he says, and he wipes his thumb gently under my eye. I let my eyes flutter shut again, and I turn my head to face him. The spot he touches feels like it’s on fire, but I don’t flinch. His skin is rough, but not unpleasant. I wait for him to move away, but his hand stays on my cheek, his thumb gently caressing my skin.
Not caressing. Just wiping off icing. But this feels an awful lot like a caress and not so much like someone cleaning another person’s face. Does he feel something? Is this more than?—
Lily, stop!
