Rhys led the way, pushing open a swinging door into a small, cramped storeroom.
The air here smelled of flour and yeast, a stark, earthy contrast to the cloying sweetness outside.
A single, bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a pool of harsh, yellow light on sacks of sugar and industrial-sized tins of vanilla extract.
Rhys turned on a tap at a large utility sink and wet a handful of paper towels. He turned back to me, and the small space seemed to shrink, the shelves closing in. He was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Hold still,” he commanded softly.
He raised the damp towels to my face, and my entire nervous system went on high alert. His touch was impossibly gentle as he wiped the smudge of chocolate from my cheek.
His fingers brushed my skin, sending a jolt of pure electricity through me.
I could feel the rough, worn texture of his calluses, a startling counterpoint to the softness of the gesture.
My breath hitched.
His thumb stroked slowly along my jawline, wiping away the last of the frosting. His eyes, dark and intense in the dim light, dropped from my eyes to my lips.
The playful glint was gone, replaced by a hunger that was so potent it felt like a physical touch.
“See?” he whispered, his voice a gravelly caress. “A little chaos isn’t so bad. ”
My planner, my schedules, my carefully constructed walls—they all dissolved into nothing.
There was only Rhys, the scent of him, a masculine mix of soap and sugar, and the overwhelming, primal need to close the tiny distance between us. My lips parted on a silent invitation.
He leaned in, his gaze fixed on my mouth.
The world tilted on its axis. I could feel his breath, warm and sweet, ghosting across my skin. His hand moved from my jaw to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling in the fine hairs there, sending a fresh wave of shivers down my spine. This was it.
The culmination of the tension that had been simmering since the wine cellar. His lips were a millimeter from mine, the promise of the kiss a silent, screaming thing in the air between us.
“Everything alright in here?”
Penelope’s cheerful voice from the doorway was a bucket of ice water.
We sprang apart as if electrocuted. I stumbled back, hitting a sack of flour with a soft *thump*, sending a puff of white into the air.
Rhys spun around, running a hand through his own frosting-streaked hair, his back suddenly rigid.
“Just, uh, cleaning up,” he said, his voice rougher than usual. “Made a bit of a mess. ”
“Oh, my,” Penelope said, her eyes widening at our disheveled state, but a knowing, gentle smile played on her lips. “Well, no matter. Did we come to a decision on the cake?”
Rhys and I exchanged a fleeting, panicked glance. We hadn’t even tasted the actual cake.
“Buttercream,” I said, the word coming out in a breathless rush.
Rhys looked at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice still strained. “Buttercream. ”
We fled the bakery a few minutes later, leaving a bewildered but smiling Penelope with a hastily signed contract. We walked out into the bright afternoon sun, the charged silence between us a tangible thing.
We didn’t say goodbye.
I turned right, and he turned left.
I walked away with the ghost of his touch on my skin and the phantom taste of a kiss I hadn’t received burning on my lips.
My perfect schedule was in ruins, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t entirely sure I cared.