This has to be some kind of cosmic test.
I clear my throat, praying to every deity available to not let my voice crack. “It’s… adequate.”
Ben’s lips twitch, and he lifts a brow, still freakishly composed. “Adequate?”
I nod, refusing to let my eyes drop below his face. I will not get caught up in the way his fingers flex around that bag.
I will not.
He bites back a smile. “I can go harder.”
I choke.
He squeezes the bag just a little too hard. The dough bursts out of the top, smearing across his wrist and forearm. I might pass out.
Ben exhales, annoyed but still too damn calm, wiping a streak of dough off his knuckles with his thumb. He licks his lips, studying the mess like it personally betrayed him.
“Guess I got a little carried away,” he murmurs, turning his palm up, flexing his fingers against the sticky mess.
I make a strangled noise.
Abort. Abort.
This is not a normal reaction to someone ruining pastry.
Yet my brain? Absolute filth.
He looks up. Catches me staring.
His mouth curves. Knowing.
Shit.
I turn away so fast I nearly knock over the sugar bowl. “That’s—” My voice comes out too high. I clear my throat. “That’s why I said even pressure.”
Ben watches me, licking a bit of dough off his thumb.
I grab a towel and launch it at his face. “Clean yourself up.”
He catches it one-handed, effortlessly, and I hate that it’s impressive.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he says, wiping off his hands. “It’s just pastry.”
No, it’s not.
It’s a trap. A freaking honey trap and I am not falling for it.
“Go wash up,” I say, tossing him another towel, pretending I don’t see the way his lips twitch. Pretending I’m not one more second away from completely losing my mind.
Ben catches it easily, but he doesn’t move. Oh no. He leans against the counter like he’s got all the time in the world, still watching me with that too-knowing, too-smug expression.
I narrow my eyes. “Sink. Now.”
His brows lift, amusement flickering behind those dark eyes. “Bossy.”
My pulse kicks up. Nope. We are not playing this game.
I tilt my head, raising a brow of my own. “I’d hate for the mighty Ben Ashcroft to be taken down by an unfortunate case of food poisoning.”
