“I’m not.” I push, and the dough squishes unevenly.
“You’re blushing so hard,” Jaclyn whispers, still grinning.
“I’m not blushing.” I lift the roller and try again.
They laugh, and the class ensues.
I don’t dare put another thing in my mouth. I watch, listen, and follow the instructions. Sort of. I’m pretty sure I’ve rolled mine too loose or too tight or both combined.
I don’t make eye contact when he walks past our table, checking our progress. And at one point, he definitely compares cinnamon to foreplay.
When the cinnamon rolls are finally rolled on the trays, I step up and slide my buns onto the counter behind him.
“I brought a little surprise for y’all.” I look up just as Cash hauls the suitcase onto the island.
My stomach drops.
The suitcase!
Good lord, I forgot why I ended up here baking in the first place.
“Goody bags.” I can’t see his face, but I hear his grin.
Oh no.
“That’s—” My voice dies in my throat.
He’s already reaching for the zipper. “Everyone gets one.”
Panic floods me, and my mind races for a solution.
The women crowd around him, buzzing with anticipation.
“Wait,” I say, too late, too soft.
The zipper starts to move.
I spin around and smack into Jaclyn.
“Oh! Sorry—sorry—”
Behind me, I hear it.
Zzzzip.
“No, no, no, no—”
I lunge forward, hand outstretched for his wrist, or the suitcase—anything to stop him. But my foot catches on the stupid braided rug, and I slam into his back.
The suitcase tips, and time stops when a bag spills open.
Shredded tissue flutters like confetti. Cookie cutters clatter across the floor. Then a colorful vibrators rolls over the counter.
Gasps flood.
Jaclyn is behind me. “Is that a —”
I’m not sure what happens next. One second, I’m reaching for the suitcase, then I crash into Cash, we slide, and go down.
