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Emma turned to look at her, a confused look on her face. "What do you mean?"

"You have a small amount of cream..." Victoria gestured to her own chin. "...right there."

Emma felt her cheeks flush. She darted her tongue out, trying to catch the corner of her mouth, then wiped the wrong side of her chin with the back of her wrist. "Did I get it?"

Victoria stepped closer. The scent of her crisp perfume mixed perfectly with the smell of baked sugar. "No. Allow me."

Before Emma’s brain could catch up with her body, Victoria raised her hand. She pressed her thumb against the corner of Emma’s mouth, gently wiping away the smear of salted caramel cream.

The second Victoria's skin made contact, the entire world ground to a halt.

A sharp, involuntary intake of air slipped through Emma’s parted lips. She stopped thinking, her eyes locking onto Victoria's with searing intensity. The pad of Victoria’s thumb was impossibly soft, tracing the curve of Emma's bottom lip with agonizing slowness. The kitchen full of chattering guests faded into white noise. There was only the heat of Victoria's fingers and the sudden rush of blood singing in Emma’s ears.

This time, Victoria didn't pull back with a smug smirk. Her hand lingered, her dark eyes dropping to Emma’s parted lips. The confident edge she usually weaponized was completely gone, replaced by a sudden, heavy vulnerability. Her breathing went shallow, visibly catching in her throat, and for one electric second, Emma thought Victoria was actually going to lean in and kiss her.

Abort. Abort mission immediately.

"Emma, dear," Martha called out from the kitchen island. "The mille-feuille is lovely, but I think the lemon tart takes the prize."

The sound of her name snapped Emma back to reality. She took a sharp step backward, her heel catching the leg of a stool. Her face felt like it was on fire. A furious blush spread all the way down her neck to her collarbones. Victoria’s hand dropped to her side, her fingers curling slightly against her thigh as she looked away, her own composure visibly shaken.

"Right," Emma stammered, her voice embarrassingly high-pitched. She wiped her hands frantically on her apron, looking anywhere but at Victoria's mouth. "Right. Let me log that. Please, keep eating."

She practically fled back to the safety of her clipboard.

For the next twenty minutes, Emma operated on pure autopilot. She tallied votes, collected dirty plates, and smiled until her jaw ached, all while aggressively avoiding the doorway. Every nerve ending in her body buzzed. She was hyper-aware of Victoria standing nearby, a silent, magnetic pull in the periphery of her vision.

When the guests finally dispersed, groaning happily as they wandered out to the garden to sleep off the sugar crash, Emma stood at the island. She stared blankly at the messy cutting boards. The heat from the ovens felt suffocating.

"I need air," Emma announced to the empty bowls. She untied her apron, tossing it onto a stool. "And I need salt. I'm going to town. To Nate's."

"I could use a walk," a calm voice replied.

Emma flinched. Victoria hadn't retreated to the patio. She was leaning against the counter near the fridge, watching her. The vulnerability from earlier was neatly tucked away behind a composed expression, but her dark eyes were still tracking Emma's every move.

"To the caff?" Emma asked, her throat tight.

"If you don't mind the company."

Emma cleared her throat. "Sure. Yeah. Let's go."

She pushed through the back door into the afternoon sun, resisting the urge to touch her own lower lip where the taste of salted caramel and Victoria's skin still lingered.

Chapter Thirteen

Victoria

The mile and a half into Rosebrook was far too short to quiet Victoria’s racing pulse.

Victoria kept her hands buried in the pockets of her jeans, staring down at the gravel just to keep her eyes off Emma’s mouth. Her skin still felt hyper-sensitive, her pulse refusing to settle. Minutes ago in the kitchen, she had simply wanted to throw Emma off balance. It was supposed to be a small test—a brush of a thumb, a flick of cream, a teasing reminder that she wasn’t the only one feeling the pull between them. Victoria had wanted to see that sharp, guarded facade slip.

Instead, the second her skin touched Emma's, the ground had completely vanished beneath her feet. The heat in Emma’s eyes hadn't been hesitation; it had been hunger. If Emma hadn’t backed away, Victoria would have crossed the distance without a single thought. That terrifying loss of self-control was still rattling through her body, leaving her throat tight and her head spinning in the afternoon sun.

She hadn't anticipated the fallout. The searing heat in Emma’s eyes, the agonizing magnetism pulling them together, had nearly brought Victoria to her knees. When Emma finally panicked and fled, Victoria had been left standing in the kitchen, her chest heaving, realizing she had dangerously underestimated her own reactions.

Now, the oppressive heat of the afternoon sun was nothing compared to the awkwardness radiating between them on the pavement. As they walked down the high street, Emma’s social obligations kicked in, offering a much-needed distraction.

"Emma! Good to see you, love! Are we still on for the cider delivery tomorrow?" called out a man from the doorway of the hardware store.