He caught her easily, spinning her against the counter, his arms caging her in.
Her laughter died when she realized just how close he was, his breath warm against her neck, his hands dusted in flour, his eyes dark with something that wasn't entirely amusing.
"Now what?" he asked softly.
Her pulse jumped. "Now I surrender?"
He leaned in, his nose brushing hers. "Too late for that."
The kiss that followed was different, soft,
playful, laced with warmth instead of fire.
The kind that lingered, not consumed.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, both of them smiling.
"You're dangerous with flour," he murmured.
"And you're impossible," she countered.
"Yet here you are."
She rolled her eyes, but her laughter was soft. "You make it very hard to stay mad at you."
"Good," he said, stealing one more kiss before turning back to the stove.
By noon, the cabin smelled of coffee and something resembling pancakes.
