Page 23 of Say It Isn't Snow
“Hey!” She hops on the tips of her toes to get it back.
I push my advantage, drawing her in by her waist and setting the icing aside. “Got you.”
Her breath hitches and she stares at me. My thumb caresses her lower back and her hands fall to rest on my shoulders.
Time stretches and every one of my nerve endings come alive with awareness of her.
How she subtly presses into me, possibly oblivious she’s shifting closer. Her throat constricting with a swallow. The parting of her lips. Her blue eyes, as sparkling as everything else about her, bouncing back and forth between mine.
I dip my head a fraction, intent on capturing those lips for the taste I really want. My face hovers close to hers, letting her decide how this goes. She licks her lips, peering up at me with desire in her gaze.
Holly speaks in a hush. “They should be cooled enough to decorate now.”
“Alright,” I answer, equally soft.
My fingers curl into my palms after she steps away, memorizing how it felt to hold her.
The game isn’t won with one strategy. I’m in it for as many plays as it takes to break down her walls.
After flitting around the kitchen for a minute with a rosy blush, she sets up a station for each of us with a tray of our gingerbread and skillfully prepares piping bags with icing. Her passion for baking is clear even now as we make something just because. For as long as I’ve conditioned my hockey technique, she’s been fine tuning hers as a baker.
A rush of pride fills my chest to see how far she’s come from the girl I grew up with who was running bake sales and watching every dessert cooking show.
“What’s your expert tips on doing this?” I gesture with the icing bag, tempted to squirt some directly in my mouth.
She shrugs. “Just go with whatever you’re feeling. Baking is supposed to be fun. No pressure, okay?”
“Like this?” I draw an abstract smiley face and give my gingerbread man a hilariously large dick.
Holly smothers a snicker. “Beautifully done.”
She shows me up by decorating three cookies for every one I finish. Her artistry clearly marks her the professional here, even when she gives hers nice sets of boobs with heart-shaped nipples. She finishes them with a flourish, smirking at her creation.
“Put on a pair of skates and hit the ice with me. I want to see if you do this well in my area of expertise,” I challenge.
She narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re on.”
After we get through them all with me chirping at her and her heckling me right back, I’m unable to wipe a grin off my face. There’s no trace of the worried knots that contorted my insides before I arrived. She’s loosened them all.
“Damn, that’s good,” I say at the first bite of the cookie.
“It’s my recipe tweak. I like to keep them more moist and give them more of a caramel flavor than when you use typicalmolasses and brown sugar ratios.” She looks like she’s in heaven nibbling on her treat. “I’m making some hot cocoa to go with these.”
“Sounds good.” I get the dishes started.
She pauses what she’s doing. When I glance at her, she’s staring at me like I’ve given her the world by cleaning up before she had the chance.
Something warm and nice flickers in my stomach that makes me want to do anything to make her feel like she can rely on me to ease her burdens.
“I’ve got this,” I say easily.
She bites her lip. “Thanks.”
“What do you want for dinner tonight?”
“It’s my turn,” she argues. “You made breakfast and our lunch.”
“And I’m cooking dinner, too.”
