He had no idea what he’d just started.
My eyes narrowed.
I deliberately took my fork, scraped up a small, controlled amount of fondant—because I was still a civilized person, damn it—and flicked it with my thumb.
It landed squarely on his cheek, a perfect white disc.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. And then his grin turned feral. “Oh, it’s on. ”
The next few minutes dissolved into a blur of sweet, sticky chaos. What started as targeted strikes quickly escalated into all-out war.
Rhys abandoned all pretense of cutlery, using his fingers to launch a volley of buttercream that landed in my hair.
“You’re an animal!” I shrieked, laughing as I ducked.
“And you’re a fondant-loving robot!” he laughed back, lunging.
I retaliated with a smear of dark chocolate frosting across his jaw.
He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that echoed in the small shop, and the sound of it did something strange to my insides, loosening a knot I hadn’t even realized was there.
Penelope had thankfully vanished into the back to check on an oven, leaving us to our ridiculous, unprofessional battle.
He lunged, and I shrieked again, ducking away, but not before he managed to swipe a streak of pink raspberry coulis down my arm.
I grabbed a napkin, intending to wipe it off, but instead, I found myself laughing.
A real, honest-to-God, stomach-aching laugh.
It bubbled up out of me, loud and uninhibited, and the sound of it surprised me as much as it did him.
Rhys froze. His hand, which had been mid-air, a glob of red velvet frosting on its fingertips, slowly lowered. He stared at me, his playful smirk melting away, replaced by an expression of pure, unvarnished wonder. His eyes roamed over my face, taking in my messy hair, the smudge of chocolate on my cheek, and the smile I couldn’t seem to contain.
“There you are,” he murmured, his voice suddenly thick.
The laughter died in my throat, replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of breath.
The air shifted, the playful energy evaporating and leaving behind something raw and charged.
We stood there, panting slightly, covered in sugar and frosting, the sweet scent of our chaotic battle hanging between us.
The world narrowed to the space between our bodies, a space that felt both too large and terrifyingly small.
“We should… clean up,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. “Before she comes back. ”
He nodded, his gaze never leaving my face. “Right. Yeah. ”
He glanced around. “There’s a pantry in the back. Sinks and stuff. ”