Page 6 of Fairy Cakes in Winter

He dug his cell from his bag, leaning against me as he flipped through his photo album. The sweet smell of peppermint drifted between us, stronger than ever. It had to be his shampoo. Was there such a thing as peppermint shampoo? Or peppermint cologne?

I inhaled deeply…not quite sniffing, but when you were inches apart from someone, deep breathing was kind of awkward.

“You smell like Christmas,” I blurted. “I mean peppermint.”

Theo’s smile was a sunbeam, all light and bright and beautiful. “Why, thank you. It’s the last of my holiday blend shampoo…and my lip balm.”

“Oh.”

He wrestled a tiny red-and-white striped tube from his pocket and uncapped it, liberally applying it to his lips. Sure enough, peppermint permeated our section.

“Now I really smell like Christmas.”

“And work.”

“Work? You’re too big to be one of Santa’s elves,” he joked. “If you’re Santa in disguise, I promise I haven’t been too naughty this year. Yet.”

And I chubbed up on cue.Christ. This guy was killing me.

“That’s too bad.” I wiggled as inconspicuously as possible to give my dick some breathing room. “Or maybe that’s good. I’d make a terrible Santa. I’m not made for year-round holiday shit.”

He chuckled. “Then whatdoyou do for a living?”

“I bake.”

Theo set his hand over his mouth and gasped. “You’re a baker! Really? Oh, that’s so fun.”

“Well…yeah, I suppose it is,” I agreed with a shrug. “The hours aren’t great, but I have good help and it’s something I enjoy.”

“They say if you do what you love, you never work a day in your life. Oh! I’m pea green with envy. I’d love to bake for a living. I wish it was an option for me because I have to say, my chocolate chip cupcakes are to die for,” he bragged.

I lifted a brow. “Is that so?”

“Yep. Almost as good as my carrot cake with double secret sauce cream cheese frosting.” His eyes lit with undisguised enthusiasm as he continued in a rush. “So…what’s your specialty? Who taught you to bake? Do you have a shop? How did you get started?”

“Well, I—”

“Wait. Let me guess. You were discovered onCake Wars, wrote a cookbook, opened a shop, expanded to another continent, and met your wife—who has a bun in the oven. And your biggest worry now is deciding if you want to be a city baker in London or a small-town baker in a quaint little village straight out of a Jane Austen classic.” He hit me with another sunshine smile. “How’d I do?”

I snickered. “Not great. No baking competition, cookbook, or wife with a bun in the oven.”

“Hmm. Are you single?” He held his hand up like a traffic cop. “And before you answer, I promise I’m not coming on to you. I’m as queer as a three-dollar bill, but in this case, it’s a matter of also being ruthlessly curious.”

My lips curled in amusement. “I’m single…and you didn’t ask, but I’m queer too. Bi. You?”

“Gay. Gay, gay, gay,” he professed with a diva-esque snap. “And as single as a lost sock in the drying cycle. You didn’t ask that, did you? I’m not flirting. I wouldn’t—”

“Got it. Don’t worry. I’m too old for you anyway.”

Theo nodded slowly. “Thirty-nineiselderly and on the way to being decrepit…and ancient.”

“Watch yourself, young man,” I chided in my best faux-parental tone.

He threw his head back and laughed.

I joined in, catching myself before I added something inappropriately porny about knowing how to deal with bad boys.

Damn it, what the hell was wrong with me? A few hours ago, I’d hoped like hell he’d sleep through the entire flight and now, I was a breath away from issuing daddy threats and I wasn’t even into that stuff.