Page 21 of Erotic Temptations 2

They’re about to murder me by sugar overload just so they’ll have bragging rights.

Their cookies were in three neat piles. I was pretty sure I’d lose the last shreds of my taste buds. So, I decided to turn it into a judgy thing and picking a winner, but not.

Taking a bite of Sophia’s pizzelle. Anise, vanilla, and powdered sugar. “Crisp. Subtle. Old-fashioned. I can practically hear Frank Sinatra.”

Sophia beamed and did a little victory shimmy.

Next, Estell’s spritz. I’d already had one, but this one was dipped in chocolate. Still so much butter, but the chocolate was dark, almost bitter, and the sprinkles crunched on my teeth. “Okay, that’s…holiday energy. If you bottled that, you’d keep kids up until New Year’s.”

Estell grinned and nudged me with her hip.

Then Mabel’s ginger cookie. The candied ginger on top hit hard then mellowed under cocoa. “If you set fire to Christmas in a good way, this would be it.”

All three stared at me. The kitchen held its breath.

I put cookie fragments in my mouth and chewed slowly to buy time. “This is cruel and unusual punishment,” I said. “But… Sophia, your pizzelles are the prettiest. Mabel, your cookies could be a controlled substance. And Estell, you definitely win for best hat.” She wore a Santa headband with bells that jingled when she blinked too fast.

Estell spluttered. “That wasn’t the contest!”

I shrugged, popping a crumb in my mouth. “I refuse to pick favorites. You’ll take away my spritz privileges.”

Mabel cackled. “Smart boy. Knows not to bite the hand that bakes.”

Someone knocked.

“I’ll get it!” I rocketed out of my chair so fast half a star cookie hit the floor. My attempt at nonchalance probably failed,but I needed to escape this bloodbath or, you know, get a head start on the insulin.

Wiping my hands on my apron, I padded to the door and yanked it open. I’d expected maybe Ed from upstairs or a delivery guy.

Not…this.

Standing in the hallway was Kane.

I lost all higher brain function.

His hand hovered near the doorframe, knuckles poised to knock again. Not a hair out of place and, somehow, he made jeans and a thermal pullover look like a runway show.

I froze.

He froze.

Even the cookies froze.

“Hi,” Kane said, after a weird beat. “I’m here to repair a shelf. Fred said his friend Estell called him?”

My throat did that embarrassing squeaky thing it always did when I wanted to sound smooth. “Uh, hi. You’re…uh, here. Wow. Oh, you fix shelves?”

He blinked, maybe thrown by my voice or the fact that I was wearing a pastel apron and holding something that looked suspiciously like a broken spatula.

“I can. I do, sometimes? Fred said Estell needed a hand?”

Fire spread across my face. I couldn’t look away but also couldn’t breathe. He looked taller standing in the doorframe than he had behind the bingo cage, and up close, I could see faint stubble on his jaw. He smelled sort of clean and crisp, like he’d just showered, which made sense but also hit me straight in the glands.

Estell appeared behind me, shoving my shoulder with biscotti-level force. “Kane! So glad you made it. Ignore Elijah, he’s always this slow before noon.”

She slipped past me, all holiday print and flour smudges, and gestured Kane inside, slippers squeaking on the linoleum. “Come on, come on. The shelf is back here. Sophia loaded it with three hundred pounds of glass bells.”

Kane let himself in and flashed a small smile. “No problem. I’ll check it out.”