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“Got it,” I said, taking the scoop from her.
I focused, brow creased, as I scooped the batter into the giant cupcake tray with a steady hand. Making sure to fill each cavity two-thirds of the way. With the first row finished, I moved on, scooping a little quicker when something spongy pinged the back of my neck.
Frowning, I straightened when another one bopped me in the back of the head. The little white object bounced to the counter beside me, missing the cupcakes by a hair.
A marshmallow.
I spun around, right in time to see Scarlett draw her arm back, but when the small puff flew toward me, I easily deflected it. With a laugh, I reached for her arm and spotted the open bag of mini marshmallows. “Oh, it’s on!”
I lunged forward and grabbed a handful of the spongy little bullets before she could stop me. Scarlett squealed and ducked out of the way as she chucked a handful into the air. A cascade of white pellets rained down on the floor. They stuck to the soles of my shoes and scattered over the countertop as I lobbed several her way.
They missed, so I launched more. One by one, I tossed the marshmallows while she squealed.
Moving out from behind her cover, she raised her hands in surrender. “Truce,” she said, and when I launched one more directly for her, she caught it in her mouth mid-air.
“Impressive.” I laughed. “More?”
When she nodded, I gently tossed one more.
The frosting shot out onto the cupcake in a giant blob.
A spurt of laughter escaped Scarlett’s closed lips. “You’re terrible at this.”
“You know what I’m not terrible at?” I asked, turning to her with a spatula coated in frosting?
“Eating everything as we go?” She arched one beautiful brow, and I feigned offense.
“I ate, like, two things.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Fine, three,” I grumbled.
“Okay, other than eating the merchandise, what are you good at?”
“This—” I dragged the frosting coated spatula down the front of her face—a giant pink stripe of gooey icing from her forehead to her chin.
She yelped in surprise, then blinked, frozen in shock before she launched into action. Reaching her hand inside the bowl of frosting, she grabbed a handful and launched it right at me.
I laughed when she missed, until my foot hit the greasy blob on the floor, and I went flying. With a thunderous crash, I landed on my back.
Scarlett gasped and hurried to my side, bending down to get a look at my face. “Are you okay?” She cupped her hand on the back of my head in a gesture I imagine was meant to check for wounds.
When I didn’t respond, she asked, “Did I knock you out?” Her hand slid to my throat where she checked for a pulse, and it took everything inside me not to burst out laughing.
“Why aren’t you saying anything? Thorne?” she asked, panic leaching into her voice, and when she rolled me closer, leaning down to check if I was breathing, I focused on keeping my body slack.
My head lolled to the side. I was dead weight. My breath came in short, steady puffs as she shook me. “Thorne, wake up!”
And because I sensed she was on the verge of getting upset for real, I peeked one eye open. “Gotcha!”
She gasped. “You!”
My laughter filled the space between us, and she smacked me on the arm. “You freaked me out for real.” A jab to the ribs. “You fell so hard, I thought you were seriously injured!” Another smack in the arm, and I was rolling. “It’s not funny,” she yelled, but this time, she too started laughing.
“You know I’m an actor,” I said, holding my hands out to defend myself against the soft little sucker punches she began delivering to my chest.
“Yeah, a good one, apparently.”
