More like…yummy long.
Gah. No. Cookies equaled yummy. Ethan equaled off-limits.
“It was the cookies for Fiona,” Em said.
Ethan chuckled low in his chest. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the only sound needed for all the women in Denver to drop their panties.
Except her because: long-term friendship.
Still, this was comfortable, actually. Him and her and a boatload of cookies headed her way.
Em folded her arms on the counter and lifted on her tiptoes to see just how he mixed the wet and dry ingredients together in a big wooden bowl.
“Why don’t you use an electric mixer or one of those stand mixers?” she asked. It’d save a ton of time and it’d be way less work for him.
He thought on it for a second, staring fondly at the mixture he created, like it was super special.
How was it she actually had the passing thought that she’d like him to look at her the same way he looked at cookie dough? That was ridiculous.
She was not Ethan’s cookie dough, and that was that.
“If there’s a task I can do with my hands, I’d rather do it that way,” he said, finally. “Appliances have their place, sure, but I like to do things the old-fashioned way. Something about it makes the experience more special, and the result more delicious. Y’know?”
He glanced at her from under his unfairly long eyelashes and the moment heated right up. Her heart kicked into gear because, with that smolder, it didn’t feel like he was really talking about mixers in the kitchen.
No. No, it didn’t.
“I prefer appliances,” she said. “Saves the work. You know?”
His nose scrunched up. “But then there’s electricity and batteries and the…risk of fire.”
Did he wink? The guy winked at her.
“Oh my God.” Emmaline’s cheeks blazed. She dropped her face to her hands. “I thought we agreed that didn’t happen?”
“What didn’t happen?” he asked, the total picture of bullshit innocence.
“Don’t even go there, mister.” She pointed at him. “I came for photos, cookies, and maybe a life lesson. No reminders of when I’ve messed up or accidentally lit anything on fire.”
“Life lesson, huh? Well…” He thought for only the briefest of seconds before he said, “How’s this? I figure life is like an amazing batch of cookies—you can’t force it,” he said. “You can’t rush it, and your only job is to do the mixing, wait, and enjoy the final flavors.”
She gave him a golf clap for being able to pull that out on the fly.
“Good save,” she said. “So sage.”
“Help a bloke out.” He handed her two spoons to shape the cookies. Then took two for himself. “Like this.” He pressed the dough into a ball between the spoons before dropping it on the stone sheet pan.
She tried it. Made exactly the same motion he did. But hers somehow was square. Physics didn’t seem to indicate that was possible.
“Yours is like edible art,” Emmaline said, as he continued to mold the dough. “Mine isn’t.”
He chuckled. “You’ll get it with practice.”
“I’d rather do it with one of those scoopers. Get it over with quicker.”
“Why rush when you can enjoy the full experience?” He continued scooping. “It’s about more than the cookie at the end—it’s about the journey there. The time spent perfecting technique.”
Were they still talking about cookies? ’Cause it didn’t feel like they were talking about cookies.
