Page 21 of Her Bossy Lumberjack

We set our cherry pies on the counter and take a step back, letting Diane examine them both. I catch my wife’s eye and she grins at me.

“You’re going down,” she whispers.

“Sure am. Going down on you when we get home.”

“Shhh!”

Luckily, Diane is too busy staring at our pies to hear.

“Hannah, your presentation is better,” she says, grabbing a knife and cutting a slice of each pie.

“Hear that?” my wife says, smirking at me. “Better presentation.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Ginger Snap. Taste is way more important than presentation.”

Diane tastes a forkful of each pie, looking thoughtful.

“Hannah, yours is delicious, but your filling is a little runny.”

My wife frowns up at me, keeping her voice low. “That’s because you started touching my ass when I was mixing in the cornstarch.”

“Doesn’t sound like me.”

“Kane,” Diane says, “yours is perfect. Just the right amount of nutmeg.” She points down at my pie. “This one wins.”

Hannah groans, and I smile smugly at her. “That’s my second win in a row.”

“It’s a fluke,” she says.

I squeeze her plump ass, making her gasp before I grab the cherry pies off the counter. “Thanks, Diane.”

“That’s the third time this week!” she says, laughing. “You kids and your cherry pies, honestly!”

We thank her again and say our goodbyes. There’s a spring in my step as we head back to my truck, and Hannah rolls her eyes as I start to hum jauntily.

“You sabotaged me with your ass-touching,” she says.

“That’s slander.”

She bites back a smile as I help her up into the passenger seat before we drive toward the forest. Diane might be our cherry pie judge, but she doesn’t know the details of our baking contests. It’s become a tradition for my wife and me—whoever loses the cherry pie contest has to spend the rest of the day naked. It’s the reason I take our competitions so seriously. I want an excuse to see my wife’s curvy body on display all day long.

“Tell you what,” I say as we reach our cabin. “Since you claim that I sabotaged you?—”

“Because you did!”

“—how about we say that we both lost this time?”

Hannah’s eyes light up. “You mean you have to get naked, too?”

“Yep. That fair?”

She nods eagerly. “Fair.”

I get out of the truck and pull Hannah into my arms, carrying her into our cozy home. It always smells delicious in here. My wife and I love to bake together—not just cherry pies, but all kinds of desserts: cookies, cakes, tarts, and muffins. Hannah has even started taking over some of the baking at work. Diane is planning to retire soon, and she’s going to leave Hannah in charge of Buttercup Bakery. I know she’ll do an awesome job, and I’m so damn proud of her.

And that’s not the only big change coming soon.

“You feeling okay, princess?” I ask as she moves unsteadily when I set her down in the living room.

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